Between the Lines
by Tinsadisaster
Summary: Harry and Hermione travel now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG. DHcompatible.
1. Part I

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisater_

**Summary**: Harry and Hermione travel alone, now unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends.

**Disclaimer**: The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. The words, however, are completely mine.

**Author's Note**:

I reread Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows last night and this morning. I had a feeling JKR didn't tell us everything that went on between our handsome little anti-hero and his intelligent best girl friend. The characters may seem less gloomy than in the actual writing, but who wants a gloomy story?

* * *

**platonic love **(_n_): a close relationship between two persons in which

sexual desire has been suppressed or sublimated

* * *

**Part I**

"Ron, no -- please -- come back, come back!"

Harry watched his desperate best friend take down her own Shield Charm and rush into the forest of trees, calling out the name of the wizard he thought was a friend he could trust.

Harry wondered how much of the anger that Ron released in their heated blow-out was the work of the locket. The horcrux definitely added fuel to the fire, but exactly how much fuel? Something in the pit of his stomach was telling him that Ron was being completely honest, but Harry did not want to face the reality of it.

_We thought you knew what you were doing! We thought you had a real plan!_

He thought he had a plan, too. Apparently, it wasn't sufficient enough for his friends. Harry remembered the quiet conversations Ron and Hermione had, of which they thought he was unaware. How long had they lost trust in him?

He stayed at the entrance of the tent, wondering how long it would take for Hermione to give up and come back. The rain was falling heavier now, adding to the gloom of the situation. In a matter of minutes, he had lost a friend and perhaps even ruined Hermione's relationship with Ron. His thoughts turned to Ginny, whom he wished he could just see, even for a second, and he realized that he was the destroyer of relationships.

Hermione finally appeared beyond the trees and said, "He's g-g-gone! Disapparated!"

Harry, not knowing how to handle a crying Hermione, threw a blanket over her shaking, convulsing shoulders and climbed into his own bed. He listened to the rain, which drowned out Hermione's sniffling and sobbing, but wished he could do more.

He was certain of one thing, though. The pitiful little thread that had been holding their friendship together for the past months finally snapped.

_Something's missing_

_and I don't know how to fix it_

He didn't know when he fell asleep. Somewhere between the time that Hermione's tears stopped falling and the heavy rain slowly became a slight drizzle, exhaustion finally got the best of him and his eye lids closed. 

He didn't sleep well that night. Bad dreams followed him, dreams of himself and his best friends trying not to drown in the ocean. An angry wave came their way and their heads were submerged for a split second. They pushed themselves to the surface, but they were farther away from each other than before. Another wave came their way, powered by the perfect storm in the sky, and he no longer spotted Ron. Hermione was still in his line of vision but he felt that any moment, she would disappear too.

Harry woke up suddenly and realized he was crying. His skin was covered in cold sweat and his heart was racing. He looked over to Hermione, who was still curled up in a ball on the chair. At least she was still there. Ron's empty bed only left a bitter taste in his mouth, so he chose to focus on his remaining companion. He did not want her to wake up uncomfortably the next morning so he lifted off his warm sheets and moved to carry her to her bed, hooking his arms under her neck and the back of her knees. She made silent noises of protest, but quickly returned to her sleep, though it seemed as troubled as his was.

"I won't let you disappear," he whispered to her, after she was securely under her sheets.

"Please don't leave me," murmured Hermione.

"Only if you promise me the same thing," Harry replied.

"Ron..."

Harry felt a stab of pain where his heart was. She was dreaming of Ron, and for the umpteenth time in this adventure of his, he felt lonely.

* * *

Ron's absence had left Harry and Hermione unbalanced. Their movements were slower, their hearts heavier, and long periods of silence became as frequent as the hunger pangs. Now that he was gone, they were forced to spend more time with the dreadful locket.

Days passed by slowly and Harry felt his friendship with Hermione slowly unravelling, as if that thread that snapped between he and Ron was now putting strain on their relationship.

They left each other alone so they both could sit in their gloom. Hermione was sobbing every step of the way and he was getting frustrated. He never knew how to handle emotional girls and always felt he should console her, but always found himself walking away to kick rocks, punch trees, and stare into nothingness.

He watched Ginny's dot on the Hogwarts map, wondering if she was missing him as much as he missed her. He wondered what she was doing, if she found herself imagining his face, and wishing he could apparate wherever she was.

After a few more nights of hearing Hermione cry herself to sleep, the journey to find the Sword of Gryffindor and the remaining Horcruxes continued. They looked over the possible locations time after time but they weren't making much progress. The tension that Ron left behind slowly gave way to normalcy, but Harry noticed that sometimes Hermione's eyes became blank and distant, as if she was lost in her own world.

They shared a few smiles here and there, but he felt a certain longing in Hermione, as if she wanted to wake up and maybe everything that had happened was just a dream and Ron was still around to crack bad jokes. He didn't want to admit it, but he was feeling the same way too. Ron always provided comic relief when it seemed they were on the brink of insanity.

On the days that Hermione was feeling rotten, which he could tell by the tone in her voice, he made an effort to hold her hand, to hug her, and whisper a few consoling words. Though he felt very awkward about it, he knew that they both needed the morale boost. Besides, in chapter eighteen of the book that Ron gave him for his birthday, it said a witch in pain would stay in pain for a long time until someone stepped in. The chapter was titled, "So your girl is crying and you're terrible with the English language." He had skimmed it in his free time while he wasn't polishing cutlery and chasing down gnomes at the Burrow. He thought it was appropriate, seeing as every time he kissed a girl, they were either crying or ended up crying.

Harry smiled at this thought. It felt strange and uncomfortable, as if smiling was like encountering a long lost cousin who you hadn't visited in years.

Harry sensed a change in Hermione. She was angrier than he had ever seen, and her temper could be set off at a simple thing as Harry accidentally slipping Ron's name while he recalled a joke they once shared in the boys dorm or the time that Ron nearly burned his eyebrows off in Potions class.

She looked at him sternly before she turned in the other direction, only to give him the cold shoulder for the next few hours. He was amazed, for in their long friendship, he had never witnessed her so silent before. At Hogwarts, she was a tornado of words and facts, but now she was as talkative as a statue. Sometimes he felt angry too, that she was being so childish, but most of the time, he just ignored it. She was seventeen, abandoned, and hormonal.

Harry turned a blind eye to the blood-stained clothes she sometimes left on the floor and knew when she was feeling in the mood to go over their leads on their ever frustrating journey. In turn, she ignored the fact that Harry masturbated when he thought she was sleeping. She told herself it was a perfectly normal thing to do, seeing as he was seventeen, lonely, and hormonal.

One night, when she couldn't plug her ears without hearing the tell-tale sounds of Harry's happy time, she sat up in her bed, looked in Harry's direction, and asked, "Do you have to do it so often?!"

Harry, who was facing the tent so his back was all Hermione could see while he relieved himself, was caught off-guard and fell off his bed. He sent a muffled "sorry" her way before he placed himself between his sheets, embarassed and unsatisfied.

The next day, while Harry watched for intruders, Hermione washed herself up in the slow stream which was a short distance from their tent. The disillusionment spells were put up, along with the rest of the protective spells so Harry did not have to worry about much. However, after being caught the night before, he could not return Hermione's staring without turning a bright pink.

His vision seemed fuzzy so he took off his glasses and wiped them clean. He blinked several times and tested them out. They were fine, perfectly fine. He was lucky that his vision hadn't become worse because he was using the same glasses from when he was eleven years old. They were getting a bit small though, or maybe his head was just getting bigger.

His eyes caught the pale tone of Hermione's skin in the distance. His friend's body, put up against the setting sun and dark stream water, was very much visible. Harry thought he saw the outlines of certain body parts, but he willed himself to look away quickly. When he looked back, he saw that Hermione was looking in his direction. He nearly jumped out of his chair. In fact he did, to run into the tent. He jumped into his bed and threw the covers over his head, hoping the blankets would make him invisible. In his panic, he did not hear Hermione walk into the tent, did not see her smirking as she fell into her bed.

"You can stop hiding now, Harry. I saw you."

Harry didn't know whether to deny it or just go along with her train of thought. So he did nothing, hoping he appeared to be sleeping.

"I don't care, really."

Harry decided to speak up. "I'm sorry. It just... happened."

He heard Hermione giggle quietly before her quiet snoring indicated she was taking a nap. Harry pulled off his sheet, amazed at how sweaty he was, and decided to take a small walk. He needed to jump into that freezing water to bring him back to his senses.

So he did, but it did not help him forget seeing the silhouette, the curves of his best friend's naked body.

* * *

A snow storm impeded their journey. Their tent was buried so they had to stay in their spot for a night. Hermione conjured up a fire but it did little to fight off the stinging, freezing cold atmosphere.

Harry's stomach growled loudly and Hermione chuckled a little. Harry apologized and said he was hungry. A muggle village was a day's distance away, he told her, so they could find some sort of food before they both passed out due to starvation. Hermione apologized, saying there weren't many mushrooms or berries in their current location.

She was curled up in her blankets, reading the book that Professor Dumbledore left her. She had read it several times over, but kept feeling the desire to analyze it. Dumbledore knew she was a book worm but surely, he wouldn't have left her this fairy tale if it wasn't important in their Quest. She sat by the tent entrance, patrolling for intruders. She always multi-tasked at Hogwarts.

Harry, on the other hand, was lying on his bed, throwing the Snitch in the air and catching it with his hands. They had hit another road block in the search for the Sword. He wasn't feeling sleepy, though he was exhausted. Some nights his mind didn't allow him to sleep. His scar burned every now and then, and he felt rage that was not his. This particular night was one of those nights.

"I wonder why Professor Dumbledore left us these things, if we can't even use them. I've deciphered runes that have confused witches and wizards since the Medieval times but this book seems even more complicated than those easy little riddles..." Hermione said to herself.

"Maybe it's really just a fairy tale book," offered Harry.

"And maybe Snape's underwear is the Horcrux we've been looking for," returned Hermione.

"Ouch, okay. Like Ron said, Dumbledore was brilliant and everything, but he was just cracked. He probably wrote the answers we need in code in invisible ink on the lines between the lines," Harry let out without thinking. Hermione's silence made him realize he let the R word slip again. Any mention of Ron sent her into a tail spin that ended up in tears and cold shoulders.

"I wish you would stop that," said Hermione, who had become a little teary-eyed. Never in her life had she felt so damn emotional. She used to mock the girls who'd never let the other girls sleep in the dorm at Hogwarts because of a broken heart, but now it seemed it was her turn.

Harry, a little angry now, said, "Well, I wish you'd stop crying all the time. He's gone and he's not coming back!"

"Harry Potter!" gasped Hermione.

"What? It's the truth! I just wish you'd stop looking over your shoulder. I stopped doing it a long time ago. He made his decision and he abandoned us."

Hermione stayed silent for an uncomfortable length of time. Harry wondered if he brought upon himself another cold shoulder fit, but then Hermione silently said, "Don't you think I know that? I called after him, chased him, and he never even answered back."

"Then why you do still act like he's going to come back?"

"Because... somewhere in me, I have the feeling that he will."

It was now Harry's turn to be silent.

_I know how you feel Hermione. I just don't think it'll actually come true._

"Well, he still hasn't proved himself to have such courage," Harry said in a tone that told Hermione the conversation was over.

* * *

Harry was washing himself in a pool of water. Even though he was roughing it, Hermione insisted that he clean himself once in a while, so that she wouldn't pass out from his stench.

He let himself sink in the water, wondering if his journey was a bust. It had been some time since their last breakthrough discovery and he was starting to feel that bitterness that Ron had told of when he decided to walk out on the excursion.

He popped back to the surface of the water and blinked back the water in his eyes. He thought he heard a sound in the distance and instinctively looked towards the tent and saw that Hermione was staring at him. The book in her lap jumped when she realized she was caught red-handed in her ogling.

She blushed, but stayed where she was. She picked up the ignored book and pretended to be reading. However, her eyes deceived her as they looked over the horizon of the book and towards Harry.

Meanwhile, Harry was laughing. He climbed out of the pool and quickly got dressed. He sauntered over to the tent entrance and passed by Hermione cooly.

Hermione watched Harry climb into his bed and let out a sign of relief. Perhaps he hadn't seen her sneaking glances.

"Hermione?" asked Harry, his voice muffled by his blankets.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Your book is upside down."

"Oh." Harry couldn't see Hermione but swore he could feel her blushing. He laughed to himself.

"Never took you for a Peeping Tom, Granger."

"Yeah, well... Don't give me reason to be," she huffed.

Harry was surprised at her reply. Their banter always skipped dangerously close to the line of flirting, but seeing as their love was platonic, it never got close enough to that line. Besides, he and Hermione were friends.

"Yeah, well... Same goes for you," he said boldly.

"Ugh! I forget that you're just a normal teenage boy sometimes but then again you always remind me when you say such juvenile things like that," Hermione said.

"Oh, me? Teenage boy? I must have forgotten, between the whole Boy Who Lived and Quest for Sword thing. Thanks for reminding me."

"Oh, you don't need reminding from me. Your happy little friend there, who comes out only at night and sometimes in the morning, to play, is reminder enough, I think."

Harry was embarassed but he smartly replied, "You're just jealous."

"Oh yes, Potter. I'm so jealous you can pitch tents, and I don't mean the one we're using for shelter."

Harry poked out his head from under his blanket and stared at Hermione, completely shocked at what he just heard come out of her mouth.

"Hermione Granger! That was a dirty joke! Now where in your virginal mind did you create that?"

"You forget that my best friends are male. I've grown up with you lot, and with your expanding imaginations too."

Harry said, "You said best friends, with a s."

"Yes, and what's your point?

_Ron_.

There was no need to vocalize it, they both felt the name linger in the atmosphere, breaking the fun little moment they had been enjoying.

Ron always ruined everything, Harry concluded.


	2. Part II

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary**: Harry and Hermione travel, now unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become … more than friends. HPHG. DH-compatible.

**Disclaimer**: The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. The words, however, are completely mine.

**Author's Note**:

I forgot to give John Mayer credit for his lyrics from his song, "Something's Missing." Also, I used certain sentences and facts taken straight from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_. Please don't sue me. Thanks to SeattleGrace90 for my first review for a HPHG story. I rarely stray from my DMHG roots but at least in this pairing, Hermione never ends up with Ron. I despise the godforsaken Epliogue! Also, thanks for the lovely lovely people who actually reviewed before they added the story to their alert or favorites list. Not that I appreciate what you did guys, but reviews make me happy. ) Very happy.

* * *

_They were both taken, in a sense, but unfortunately _

_they__ weren't taken with each other._

Between the Lines, Part II

* * *

**Part II**

They were traveling through a forest with tall trees and a small road. There was only enough room for them to shuffle sideways while being careful of the thorny branches that liked to catch careless travelers. Harry stayed close to Hermione, holding her hand, while he led the way to the other side of the forest.

"I think I see the exit," Harry said, squinting at the light in the distance. They moved on carefully until they both squeezed themselves out. They pulled out the thorns that caught onto their shirts and pierced their skin, unaware of eyes that watched their every move.

"Ooh! A man!" a high pitched voice rang out. Harry and Hermione tensed, the former pushing the latter behind him while he aimed the only wand they had at the unwanted observer.

"Oh, put away your wand, traveler."

The wood nymphs revealed themselves. Their bodies were shaped like a woman's, but they lacked clothing. Perhaps two were covered with strategically placed leaves but for the most part, they were stark naked.

Hermione felt Harry say, "Whoa." She pinched his side to remind him that she was still standing right behind him and that the creatures could be dangerous.

"Oh, I mean, uh... Let us pass," Harry stammered.

"Is that really what you desire?" the leader of the pack asked sensually, coming close to Harry. He shuddered almost, and Hermione couldn't believe they had to face _these_ creatures. There was a reason why they were called nymphs. They only thought of one thing.

"Leave him alone, he's mine!" Hermione said, pulling Harry behind her and taking the wand from his clammy hands.

"What?" said Harry, dazed.

The leader of the nymphs glared at Hermione. "Really?"

"Yes, he's mine, now go scamper off and find your own." Harry tapped her shoulder and asked for an explanation. She only told him that he was not in his right mind and that she'd explain later.

"Prove it."

"W-What?" Hermione's strong tone stammered, which the nymphs noted.

"You heard what we said, bushy hair."

"Oh, Merlin. I swear I thought I'd never have to come across creatures like you. Great thing the book that Hagrid assigned us mentioned you lot."

"We honestly don't care," one nymph said. She was smaller than the rest of her companions. All this time, their hands attempted to grab Harry's body. Harry, on the other hand, was trying to bridge the connection, but to no avail, as Hermione blocked him off.

"Harry, this is for the greater good, okay?" Hermione said over her shoulder.

Harry replied with a "what?" but could not say anything else because she unexpectedly turned around and pushed him to the ground. With all the willpower she had, she kissed Harry. He, on the other hand, was confused and moved to pull away. Hermione pulled them up so that she sat in his lap playfully and grabbed his ears. She whispered for him to play along and that she'd explain it all later. He was being stubborn until she growled for him to do as she said or else they'd be in trouble.

Something inside Harry reacted to that growl and so he initiated the next lip to lip connection, this time upping the ante by slipping his tongue into the mix. Hermione, who glanced out the corner of her eyes saw the nymphs shaking their heads in denial. They wanted a show, she realized.

Hermione felt Harry fall backwards, taking her with him. She screamed a little in surprise when he flipped their positions and resumed kissing her with a ferocity she hadn't imagined he possessed. He nipped her lower lip, making her moan slightly, to both of their delight. Their faces swam against each other, dancing an unchoreographed ballet.

"Okay, we've seen enough. You proved us wrong, bushy hair. He really does seem to be yours," said the leader of the pack. They all turned around and walked away, only to vanish among the wood of the trees.

After they disappeared, Harry and Hermione looked at each other as if they just met each other. Harry climbed off her slowly and sat down on the grass of the clearing. Hermione stayed where she was, lying down paralyzed.

The only sound they could hear for a while was their heavy breathing and the chirping of distant birds. Hermione ran her tongue over her lips, wondering how she would explain what happened to Harry.

"Care to justify what just happened, Hermione?" Harry said.

"Nymphs. Wood nymphs," Hermione breathed out.

"Huh?"

"Yes, nymphs, as in nymphos. They appear as they do to appeal to male travelers. It entices men, lures them into their trap."

"Like sirens and shipwrecked sailors?" Harry offered. His glasses finally stopped being steamy.

"Yes, but worse. After they've done what they like to men, they usually kill them."

"Kill? How?"

"Yes, they're vicious little creatures. Read it in the book that Hagrid assigned us. They're considered deadly monsters, though they don't look so harmful."

"Tell me, how exactly do they kill? Can it possibly involve sex until the male dies?"

"Wouldn't that just be blissful for you lot? No, Harry, they own weapons, knives, and things like that. It's not a happy end."

"Good thing you saved me, then, huh?" he said, smiling.

Hermione stared at him, thinking a mile a minute, and replied, "Sure."

"...Why did you do that?" Harry inquired.

"Because, Harry, they're partially women. Women are territorial and most of the time, and in this case, they honor other women's territory. I had to show them you were mine or else they'd take you and I don't even know what would they'd do to me."

"... So, I'm yours now?"

"Harry, please stop being such a pain in the arse."

"Okay, okay. I don't want to make you cry."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, as you should know since I've told you of every girl I've kissed or you witnessed it happening, they all seemed to be crying or end up crying."

"Tell me, Harry, are there any tears in my eyes?" Hermione asked playfully. Harry crawled over her and stared into her eyes, saying that there weren't any. They lingered there for too long and soon, the feeling of awkwardness surpassed that of playfulness.

"I think it's time that we best get going on our way. It's almost nightfall and we've got some distance to cover before we can set up camp," said Harry briefly, pulling himself up. He offered Hermione a hand but she refused it and pulled herself up on her own.

Harry didn't know whether to feel hurt or not care.

* * *

"Whatever that was," as the nymph incident was now called, had little effect on Harry and Hermione, or so it seemed. They still brain-stormed where Voldemort could have hidden the Horcruxes or where Professor Dumbledore put the Sword, but they sat farther apart from each other than previously. 

With significant others in both of their minds, "whatever that was" caused mini-tornadoes in their minds that left them feeling guilty. Harry knew that his relationship with Ginny was over, but Hermione was the first girl he had kissed in a very long time. However, he knew he still had strong feelings for Ginny. "Whatever that was" confused him immensely. On the other hand, Hermione felt even more guilty and terrible for what she had done. True, she had done it to save their lives but with Ron gone, it felt unfair to him. She knew she liked Ron and it just irked her insides that he had reciprocated the feelings, but now with that event lingering over her, she realized she _liked_ what she had done with Harry.

"You're seventeen, Hermione. You're bound to get confused by something as simple as a kiss," she told herself. But was she as simple as every other girl? Did this rule apply to her?

"You're seventeen and you're practically living with Hermione. She's a good-looking girl and it's natural that you feel attracted towards her. You've been alone together for a long time and it was bound to happen, given the whole shower peeping thing," reasoned Harry in his head. He thought it was foolish to even think of this. He had bigger things to deal with, like Voldemort and extending his own life.

They brushed off the subject like it hadn't happened.

They traveled away from the frosty land of the south of England, towards the mountains and through the country. The weather got colder and Hermione's pathetic fire did nothing to keep them from freezing their arses off at night. Harry reasoned they were too cold to feel hungry. Like getting whacked on the arm with a bat so that you could not feel the Charley-horse in your leg, they cancelled out hunger with coldness. It didn't get rid of the hunger pangs entirely though.

One night, they found themselves in a marsh. Hermione did her best with anti-water spells on the furniture and other things but it didn't make the tent less chilly. Harry was sure there was some spell to make one's body feel warmer but he couldn't remember it for the life of him.

So Hermione reasoned that if they pushed their beds together and stole Ron's blankets, they could have triple the warmth. Harry said he wasn't sure it was such a great plan, and this hurt Hermione, though she knew it shouldn't have.

"Well, it's just an idea," she scowled. Feeling particularly irritated, she turned to her books for comfort. So far, she had read _The Tales of __Beedle__ the Bard_ as many time as she had read _Hogwarts: A History_ but she still was left with a string of theories that seemed improbable.

Sensing he had said the wrong words, Harry offered to try their idea. Hermione refused, saying she agreed with him, that it wasn't a great idea after all. Her icy tone cut Harry. He stepped away from her and wondered if it was finally the time in which they turned against each other, as Ron did with him. He remembered the night that he dreamed he could've lost her in the ocean if another wave came over them. He remembered asking her to never leave him if she'd do the same for him. He also painfully remembered hearing her whisper Ron's name. What he would give to have Ginny here and hear her whisper his name?

Despite having Hermione's companionship, he still felt lonely. They were both taken, in a sense, but unfortunately they weren't taken with each other.

_Everything would be so simple if I was her Ron and she was my Ginny._

* * *

Nothing in Harry's life was simple, that much was true. That night, after a little soup made of little more than mushrooms, some strange fruit, and a hell of a lot of water, Harry tossed and turned, hoping it would create some kind of heat that would spell away the freezing cold chill that seeped into his skin and made him feel as cold as marble. 

Hermione was trying to sleep, but Harry's constant rustling wouldn't allow it. Usually, one of them would be outside, guarding their tent, but they were both exhausted and they set up the Sneakoscope near the tent entrance. If someone untrustworthy stopped by, they would know.

"Would it be so terrible if we just joined beds and shared all the blankets we had?" Hermione asked.

Harry stared the dark canvas roof and replied, "No."

"Then what's stopping you, Harry?" she asked.

"Ginny. Ron."

"What?"

"You don't understand, Hermione. It would be hurting Ginny, and Ron too."

"But we're not going to do anything! Or maybe you want to die of frost bite in your sleep."

"How do you know we're not going to do anything?" whispered Harry.

Hermione thought about his question before answering, "Ginny. Ron."

"Okay," sighed a resigned Harry. With a flick of Hermione's wand, their beds were joined and Ron's sheets flew off his bed. They settled in, as much as they felt comfortable in this certain situation.

"Well, who would have thunk it, Hermione? We're sharing the same bed. By tomorrow morning, we can say that we've _slept_with each other."

"Harry, don't be cheeky or I'll throw your arse out of this bed."

"Whoa, okay, ma'am."

"This feels much betters, hmm?" said a drowsy Hermione.

"Yes, but I warn you, I twist and turn and sometimes punch and kick."

"I certainly hope you don't. Because I will reciprocate it all."

"Gee, Hermione, you're so hard to sleep with."

"If I wasn't feeling so comfortable and warm in this certain position, I would reach over and do something so uncomfortable that you wouldn't be able to sleep all night. Don't make me, or else I will."

"Hah, I'd like to see you try."

"You asked for it." She scooted closer to Harry now, pressed up against him, with her back facing his front. Harry could _feel_ Hermione now, her slow breaths, her hair on his face, her toes mingling with his.

Harry gulped.

"Uncomfortable yet?" asked Hermione, who was nearly sleeping.

"N-no," Harry stammered. "In fact, I think this is more comfortable. More warm." _Lies._

"Mmhhm. Body heat," Hermione said, now fully asleep. Her silent snores were the tell-tale sound.

The heat emanating off his friend's body, combined with his flushed skin, was enough to make warmth that he associated with a fire in a hearth. Under the many sheets and next to Hermione, he felt the warmest he'd ever felt in a long time and slept.

He dreamed he was in the ocean again. This time, Hermione was right beside him, holding his hand and telling him they'd be okay. However, a figure in the distance broke their trance of trust. With flashing red hair, Ron was distinguishable in the dark blue-black water. Hermione tore her hand from his and started swimming away from him, towards Ron. Harry was left alone.

He woke up again, this time not crying but shaking violently. Hermione was sitting up in her side of the bed, looking at him strangely.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked. Harry lied, saying it was a dream about Voldemort. Hermione asked if the dream was as realistic as his previous dreams about Voldemort and if it was something she should be worried about. He brushed her off, saying it was just another dream in which he thought he died at the wand of the monster he was trying to kill.

They both laid down on the beds, on their own sides now, and pulled the sheets over their shoulders. Hermione watched Harry fall asleep as she lay on her side. When his eyes were finally shut and he was clearly sleeping, she moved to her back and stared at the canvas roof.

How could it be a dream about Voldemort if Harry was screaming, "_Hermione, please don't leave me!_" ?


	3. Part III

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel, now unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become … more than friends. HPHG. DH-compatible.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but student loans to pay for in the future. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and the magical world all belong to JKR.

**Author's Note:**

Thanks to all the people who reviewed my story. You're the reason why I keep coming up with this stuff. J Two chapters in two days is a new record for me, I must admit. Usually, readers wait weeks, months before new chapters. But not for you, not for this story.

I'd like to point out one reviewer, "mike," my first flamer for this story. You made me see that yes, the characters were starting to get out hand, so thank you for that. However, I hope you don't think I'm weak-willed, my friend. I'm far from it. However, I think you are. Be a man, stop flaming anonymously.

Anyhoo, here's the third chapter of _Between the Lines_. May I remind you that I'm not J.K. Rowling and this is not (completely anyways) _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_. It's just a story, but there's no reason why you shouldn't enjoy it!

* * *

What am I supposed to do

With all these blues

Haunting me, everywhere

No matter what I do

Watching the candle flicker out

In the evening glow

I can't let go

When will the night be over?

**BBMak -- **_Ghost of You and Me_

* * *

**Part III**

They had passed through the marsh and rested on a Scottish loch. From there, they visited a muggle village and had a rare but delicious treat of a nourishing meal.

Something had been gnawing at Harry's mind, forcing him to lose the little sleep they could afford to have as they camped from place to place, never really getting anywhere, but feeling better that at least they were moving forward. He knew that Godric's Hollow was just a trap waiting to happen, but he felt attracted to the place, as if it was calling out his name.

The sickness did not go unnoticed. Hermione thought her best friend was bothered by some little thought because he was developing a tick, a twitch at the corner of his left eye. When he seemed on the brink of surrender, it showed up and she wanted to say something, but he did not want to talk to her more than necessary. After the bed incident, their little connection was severed again. After weeks of her own suffering, at the fault of Ron and his stupidity, she thought things had become better, the best even. They interacted, talked, discussed, and for the most part had a healthy morale. That particular night changed all this, made it all complicated. Harry wouldn't look at her straight in the eyes and she found it hard to say things she knew had to be said.

They wandered around, both lost in their own worlds, and sometimes colliding. They continued setting up protective spells and the tent, but now they showered privately and slept in separate beds, though the weather was not improving at all. Harry continued watching Ginny's dot and Hermione continued to stare off into the distance, trying to catch a glimpse of red hair that would never appear. At least for now.

* * *

Harry was having a hard time sleeping so he offered to take Hermione's tent guarding shift. She politely declined, saying he needed as much sleep as she did, if not more. He was relentless, commenting that she looked deathly. Hermione, knowing that her pale complexion and the purple bags underneath her eyes gave her away, nodded and stood up from where she was sitting at the tent entrance. As Harry watched her wobble back to her bed, he noticed how her clothing fit more loosely than before, how her arms flailed at her sides, seeming as heavy as the heart she was carrying.

He swore silently at himself for letting things get out of control. She wasn't used to these conditions, he remembered. She didn't live with the Dursleys, wasn't practically starved to death since childhood. There was nothing he could do, really. Like Hermione said, magic couldn't just create food out of nowhere. They were forced to pick at rotten mushrooms, sour berries, and the rare fruit or game that came their way.

"I'm sorry for not taking care of you like I should," he said openly, wondering if the starving girl in her bed was conscious enough to hear his words.

"What do you mean, Harry?" she replied, her voice quiet and muffled, since her face was partially drowning in pillow.

"You know. We never have food, we're never warm at night, and we're going nowhere," he said with a sigh. He hated it when she played the ignorant card for his benefit.

"Of course we're going somewhere, Harry. Don't say that. We're not doing all this for nothing," she replied half-heartedly.

"I'm not sure about that, but all I know is that you're not looking well and I'm not exactly the poster boy for healthiness."

"Don't attack yourself so harshly, Harry. You take care of me, you do." Her voice was quiet, but Harry heard every word she said. He smiled at his friend's attempt at encouragement.

_Through thick and thin, you'll always be on my side, Hermione. I just hope we're not the losing side._

"I'm not doing a great job then, seeing as you look like you haven't touched a crumb of food in weeks and that you might collapse any second," he told her.

"Hey, I'm doing alright! Mind you worry about yourself, Harry."

"I'm just sorry, that's all," Harry said in the saddest tone his best friend had ever heard since they began their adventure. He glanced at the dark sky outside, the land around them. The silent sounds of the nocturnal creatures were like a disturbing lullaby, rocking them both away from sleep, rather than to it.

Hermione was silent that Harry thought exhaustion finally got the best of her, but in truth, she was tearing up and silently sobbing to herself. She covered her face in her pillow and her unruly hair, hoping he couldn't see her break down. Contrary to his belief, when she cried, it was never always because of Ron.

"I never thought I'd miss people this way," she said, hiccupping slightly as her tears burned, sliding down her pale cheeks and onto the dirty pillow case.

"You know we've discussed this already. He's not coming back!" Harry said sternly. As much as he wanted to discuss Ron's continuing absence, he couldn't bear seeing his friend in such pain, because of that coward. Surely, he was lying in his bed at home, being fed five meals a day by his mother and sleeping as peacefully as a cow.

"I didn't mean him, Harry," she said. "It's my p-parents." She lost control now, her shoulders shaking as the sorrow built up, forcing her to curl into herself. Images of her parent's smiling faces popped up in her mind, of their expressions as they saw her pull out her wand and say a spell that they were never ready for. Harry, concerned, stood up and walked over to her bed side, taking down the blankets that suffocated her.

"Shh, it's okay, Mione," said Harry in what he hoped was a comforting tone, as he patted her shoulders. The girl continued to shake and sob, despite his efforts.

"No, it's not! They don't even know I exist, Harry! They have no idea that they have a daughter, that she's far away on a journey that they would never approve of, that she was in grave danger every step of the way! They're probably enjoying themselves in Australia, enjoying lives that aren't theirs. Lives that I created for them so that if I somehow don't make it in this world, I won't cause them pain. They won't be ripped apart by my death this way."

Hermione continued to cry her sorrow out, and Harry decided his patting was doing nothing to make things better. He didn't know if anything would heal this depression that his best friend was experiencing. Of course, she had told him this in the beginning, but it never slipped his mind that it was _real_, that she erased herself in her parent's minds so that if Merlin-forbid she died, they wouldn't have to experience the feeling of burying the child that should have died years after them.

So, bravely, Harry asked her to make room for him, which she did, so he could slip into bed next to her, in order to hug her properly. He pulled the blankets over them with his right hand as his left pulled Hermione's shoulders towards his body.

He cocooned her shivering body, felt her convulsing, and swallowed her pain. Hermione threw her hands over his hips as she held her head at the crook of his neck. He continued to say "shh" and "It's going to be alright" and "relax, breath" as he squeezed her, making sure she felt that she wasn't alone in her suffering.

"Didn't I tell you that I'd take care of you?" I will _never_ let you disappear, Hermione Granger. Please believe me when I sat that," he said, surprised at the tears threatening to fall at the corner of his eyes. He couldn't possibly imagine how Hermione was feeling at that moment, but he had an inkling of a guess. Seeing as he never had parents to begin with, physically wise, he learned to deal with the pain that came along with the longing, adapted to the idea that the only time he would see himself with them was when he stood before the Mirror of the Erised. On the other hand, Hermione had lived with her parents, grew up with the at her side, and was protected by their physically there love. He couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for Hermione to obliviate her parents, to confuse them into thinking they never had a daughter. To know that they existed but were ignorant of _her_ existence, it must have eaten away at her soul over all this time.

"Oh, Harry, I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here," Hermione managed to get out, as her breath caught in her throat at every sniffle and snob.

"I don't know what I'd do if you weren't with me, either, Hermione. I'm not sure I ever told you this, but you don't know how much your loyalty and friendship is worth to me. Out of all the friends I've made since I was eleven, you were always the one by my side, through every scandal and controversial thing I went through," Harry said, feeling a bit pathetic. He remembered the Triwizard Tournament, how Ron ignored him for becoming one of the contestants when he never entered his name. "Ron, he was there, but he wasn't there sometimes, you know. At times he believed what everyone else was saying, but you … you always believed _me_."

The break down slowly lost acceleration, lost power, and the sobs and jerks from deep inside Hermione became small sniffles and hiccups. Her breathing turned normal again and her grasp on Harry loosened, but not completely. She held onto his hips slightly still, wanting to feel his presence, but pulled her head away from his neck. She laid it on her pillow, and stared into her friend's eyes, his deep and emerald green eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered. She held up her arm, guided her cold hand over Harry's jaw line, and smiled as she saw his Adam's apple bob with every gulp. Her hands slid past his jaw line, towards his unruly hair, and stayed there, playing with the strands that stood up rebelliously. Harry closed his eyes, feeling his best friend's fingers running through his hair, massaging his scalp in an ever-so-pleasurable way.

"Harry," she sighed, continuing her comforting gesture.

"Yes?" he said, opening his eyes and staring into her eyes for the first time in a long time. He saw that they weren't as sad and wet as they were half an hour ago, but they held a strange emotion he never saw Hermione express for him, ever.

"I love you," she said shyly, with a curious hitch in her voice. Harry, who wasn't shocked by her words but in the way she said them, nodded. He knew Hermione loved him because why else was she still with him? What had she stuck by his side all these, when she suffered for just being associated with him? He wasn't stupid; he knew she was bothered more than appropriate by Slytherin bullies and foolish school girls because they knew she was close to his heart.

"I know that. I love you too," he responded quickly, too quickly in Hermione's opinion. Her silence allowed him to think. Was this the first time he openly stated this to her? Surely, she would've just _known _by now.

Hermione shifted closer to him, their noises practically touching now. Something in her eyes changed, a flicker of hurt perhaps, or nothing at all. Harry knew what she was going to do next, because of that encounter with Cho Chang in the owl place and the times he slipped away with Ginny in isolated hallways of Hogwarts. Hermione couldn't believe what she was doing, but all she wanted for that split second was to just kiss him, no matter how crazy it was. Just one kiss, that was all. He could push away if he wanted, but all she wanted was just one.

He was going to protest, the words already on his lips, but Hermione's lips beat him to the punch. She pushed her lips forcefully against his, and something in the pit of Harry's stomach lit up, and he reacted. They moved clumsily against each other, slowly, like they had all the time in the world. The word "wrong" kept flashing in Harry's mind, but he chose to ignore it.

Harry tasted a saltiness as his lips danced with Hermione's. He heard her make sort of noise, which must have been a moan or a cry, but he didn't care. He was starved of this type of sensation, this type of human-to-human connection. Their tongues found each other, and their slow waltz became a desperate, fast-tempo dance, a salsa. The hands that held Harry's hips grasped him tighter, and he groaned when she felt her nails dig into his skin and felt her hips push up against his.

He shifted, moving her under him as they didn't lose their connection. Faces swirled in both of their minds, faces that would make them feel guilty in a short time, but they were fleeting images as they lived in the moment, the present, the now.

They had gone too many days without their significant others, and that longing became the fuel that kept their fires going. Harry liked to think he was thinking of Ginny when he was kissing Hermione, but in reality, he thought he wasn't thinking at all. Their touching was something carnal, something built up over a few weeks of disillusion, of stolen glances, and slight curiosity. Besides, it would be a great disservice to Ginny if Harry was thinking of her while he was snogging his best friend.

Hermione's mind was racing though. She had meant to kiss him, but she didn't expect things to get this far. She was surprised that Harry responded, that he didn't fight her off and tell her that she was being irrational and did something very wrong. In fact, she was shocked that they hadn't stopped yet. Her shirt was thrown aside and she was bare from the waist up, and he was too.

Harry's hands roamed, finding places on her body that she didn't know were so sensitive to another's touch. His mouth replaced his fingers and Hermione almost lost all sense of thought. She only felt exhilaration, warmth, and a spring winding up inside of her. Her own hands roamed down his lovely back, clawing in a way that made him say her name is such a sultry way that she shivered.

Harry's little friend woke up as he interacted in the most sexual activity of his entire life. Hermione's eyes widened to the size of small saucers as she felt him poking into her stomach, but Harry's were closed so he didn't see her reaction.

The odd but interesting sensation was like a bucket of water on her senses. Hermione, weak and vulnerable, had practically mauled her best friend. Now, he was reacting as any normal, teenage boy would if a girl threw herself at him, and it was no fault of his. He was not weak-willed; he was a seventeen year old boy who had been sexually attacked. She knew she had to stop things before they reached the point of no return.

"Harry, Harry," she said, as she pushed him away. He pulled himself up, supporting his upper body weight by his hands on the mattress. He looked down at her with dazed eyes. She swore she never seen a brighter emerald green in her life.

They stared at each other for a split second before Harry realized the situation and quickly started apologizing, flushed and embarrassed. He climbed out of her bed, apologizing still, and sprinted to the tent entrance, disheveled but thoroughly snogged. Hermione, who failed to locate her shirt, pulled up the bed sheets to cover herself in modesty as she sat up and looked at the boy she just completely confused. His back was towards her as he let the cold wind from outside hit his face in a refreshing way. Hermione could see his outline in the darkness, how he moved his hands over his hair and heard him swear silently to himself.

_If I don't say anything now, we'll just avoid each other for another week or two. I don't think we can afford that at this point, _thought Hermione. With some resolve, she gathered the sheets around her, creating a toga of sorts, and walked slowly towards Harry.

Harry, who had heard the rustling and the light footsteps, braced himself. For what, he did not know.

"Harry, I just want to say…" Hermione started.

"Please don't, Hermione. Just please. Don't," he said before she could continue her apology, explanation, or whatever she was trying to give him.

"But something just happened and you can't ignore it!" replied Hermione.

"Yes, I can. In fact, we can both pretend it never happened. Right, right. That's what we should do," said Harry smartly.

"I… can't believe you," Hermione said through a clenched jaw. She pronounced her words in an icy tone that rival the weather outside. Harry cringed, knowing he said the wrong words. _Again_.

"Can't believe what, Hermione? Can't believe that I didn't stop us sooner?" Harry faced her now, pointing an angry finger at her. The bright emerald eyes from minutes ago were now a dark green, a frightening green.

"Oh, Harry! It's always _you_!" screamed Hermione now.

"What do you mean," said Harry in a low tone.

"Why do you think everything is _your_ fault, _your_ responsibility? What if, for some strange reason, that whatever just happened was **my **fault? Would it be so terrible to just face the fact that we did what he did and not pretend that the last hour hasn't happened?" answered an obviously angry Hermione.

"Because it shouldn't have, Hermione."

"How do you know that? What if it was just inevitable?"

"But it's unfair!"

"Unfair to whom? Unfair to you? Am I really that unworthy in your eyes?"

"You don't know how crazy you sound right now," replied Harry, hoping she would be so angry with him that she'd leave him alone.

"What does Ginny have that I don't have, Harry? Is she prettier than me, smarter than me, more your type?"

"Hermione, please stop."

"No! Answer my question."

Harry paused dramatically, thinking of something rational to say that would hurt her feelings just a little bit, but enough to make her go away.

"It's unfair to Ginny, Hermione, you know that. And to Ron!"

"Bullocks. As far as we're concerned, your relationship with Ginny is over and Ron abandoned us and no longer counts in the picture…" said Hermione.

"But you like him, and he's our best friend, and what we did would kill him!" Harry replied, now angry too. How dare she question his relationship with Ginny? Just because it was over did not mean he still did not hold strong feelings for her!

Hermione just glared at him now, clutching the sheets that covered the body that he had his hands on, only a short while ago.

"We're fighting ghosts, Harry! Ginny isn't here, not even remotely close to here, but she always is, just because you think of her. Ron is definitely not here either, but his absence has been as strong and as frustrating as his presence!"

"Hermione, drop the subject, **now**," growled Harry. If she didn't shut up, he might have to hit her, and he wouldn't feel sorry.

Stubborn and proud as she was, Hermione decided to do as he asked and huffed and stomped her way back to her bed, the scene of the crime that now was tormenting them both.

Hermione she shouldn't dare speak to Harry anymore. Instead, in her sense of awareness of the situation, she ripped off a corner of piece of parchment that held their brain storms. She wrote down something that she hoped would mend at least some of the damage they'd cause on their friendship so when they woke up the next morning, they would not hate each other's guts.

Harry wouldn't dare turn around and face his best friend. He didn't want to talk to her anymore that night. He was glad that she didn't attempt to, because he didn't know how violent he would have become if she was persistent.

Honestly, he was as confused as Neville Longbottom in a Double Advanced Potions class with Professor Snape on his man period. He knew he still felt for Ginny, but there was no question that he liked what he did with Hermione. He always thought that distance made the heart fonder, and he thought he believed it, but Hermione's shorter distance drove him wild too!

He led out a grunt of frustration and realized he was drained of energy. Looking out at the tent entrance, he decided that they were in a safe location and that the Sneakoscope would be sufficient enough to warn them of unwanted strangers. He walked over to his bed, which was parallel to Hermione's, but on the other side of the tent. He climbed under the blankets, and put his hands beneath his head. He stared up at the canvas roof, listening to the howling wind outside that gave him goose bumps.

A piece of parchment flew in the air and hit Harry on the nose. With a muffled "ow," he caught the offending flying projectile and opened it up. By the light of Hermione's wand, he read the crumpled note.

_**Whatever you may say, I don't regret what we did.**_

Not knowing how to respond, Harry crumpled the parchment paper and stuffed it in his pants' pocket.

He continued staring up at the canvas roof. His mind raced, and Ginny's name flashes ever so often, but all he could clearly imagine were a pair of familiar brown eyes, feirce, unrelenting and enticing.

Harry, lost in his thoughts, imagined that he had the strength and courage to turn on his side, call out Hermione's name, and tell her that he too did not regret what they did, that she made him feel more alive than he'd been feeling in a long time. However, Ron's head popped up, and his warning words of playing around with Ginny after he broke her heart repeated over and over again, like a broken record, in his mind.

_Hermione was right about one thing. We really are fighting ghosts._


	4. Part IV

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **I am only borrowing the characters and some facts from the Deathly Hallows, which all belongs to J.K. Rowling. I also used lyrics from Dashboard Confessional, the band with the greatest songs with the greatest lyrics ever and the two best lines from the movie Click.

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry I took longer to post up this chapter. College has got the best of me now, seeing as I'm trying to find a way to pay for my first bills. Thanks to those who reviewed, added me to their favorites list, and who ever read my story. It means so much to me. ENJOY!

* * *

And the grave that you refuse to leave

the refuge that you built to flee

The places that you've come to fear the most

It's the place you've come to fear the most

**Dashboard Confessional **-- _The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most_

Will you still love me in the morning?

Forever and ever, babe

**Click** (_2006_)

* * *

**Part IV**

"Hermione, I want to go to Godric's Hallow."

Harry's voice was raspy, but Hermione could hear the desperation clearly.

Sighing, she agreed.

"Really?" Harry's eyes shone with excitement, shining a bright green. He looked as if he was eleven and just stepped onto the Hogwarts campus.

Hermione was surprised that he finally decided to talk to her so much earlier than she expected. Given his previous cases of silent treatments and distant glares directed towards her, she was relieved but still frightened. She really did not want to go to Godric's Hollow. Something in her blood warned her that it was a terrible idea, but she couldn't take it back.

She needed Harry to trust her again. After her little show, he distanced himself as much as he could, though they were still attached at the hip, given their status as roaming, clueless quest seekers. It was like the time she nagged at him about the Potion's book that got him into more trouble than he needed. She could stand being ignored by Ron; she had years of experience of _that_. But when Harry ignored her? She ceased to exist.

"So when can we go?"

Hermione ran a grimy hand through her hair and walked over to Harry, who had taken out pieces of parchment and a quill to start their planning. She could never get him to do that at Hogwarts, she thought. The idea of blank parchment and black ink was as terrifying to Harry as a magicked monster-size comb threatening to tame his unruly hair.

It was her turn to be terrified.

* * *

"I don't think this is a good idea..." whispered Hermione as she creeped slowly upon the road with Harry, hidden under the Cloak of Invisibility. Only half an hour ago, they had swallowed the Polyjuice Potion that she was able to stash away in her preparation at the Burrow.

"Oh, don't be silly. We don't look like ourselves. We're safe. I think we should take off the cloak. We're just a married Muggle couple, taking a walk in nature."

Before Hermione could reply, Harry grabbed the Cloak by a corner and pulled it off them. She gasped at the sudden cold, and pulled the flimsy shawl that she wore tighter around her.

"I know something of importance is lying around." Harry started walking away, in a daze because he couldn't believe he was here -- he was _home_.

They found a snow-covered statue that depicted a man and a woman holding a baby in her arms. His eyes locked onto the statue. The trees disappeared, the snow vanished, and so did Hermione. Somewhere in the distance, a violin started crying its lovely song. He saw his father's face, a face depicted as accurately as talent and time would allow. He saw his own reflection in this slab of stone. His eyes moved towards the woman, his mother. The stone did nothing to show her true beauty -- her once emerald green eyes. Those... he knew by memory. A flash of the woman in the Mirror of Erised sparked in his mind, and he felt warmth. And there, the little loaf-sized baby in her arms. It lacked one thing that had always marked him -- the scar.

It did not look like him at all. Was he ever that tiny, that unblemished?

He snapped back to reality and said he had enough of that. He led her towards the church, which he knew somehow would lead him to what he wanted to find -- the grave yard, the graves, and the tombstones.

"Are you sure you're ready, Harry?" Hermione asked him. She had observed him in his silent moment of contemplation. He wasn't there with her, not in that moment and time. He was somewhere she could not follow, and that scared her to death.

They passed the kissing gates and a silly thought ran through her mind. Why was it called a kissing gate? The little curiosity quickly faded away as they began to walk among the dead, the infinite dead.

She saw tombstones, lined till tomorrow. The graveyard was quiet, an eerie sort of quiet. Childhood stories of ghosts roaming restlessly came back to her and she had to force herself not to grab Harry. Seriously, she was a witch, wasn't she? She had seen ghosts; she had nothing to be afraid of.

Harry's eyes jumped from stone to stone, searching for the right ones. He saw Professor Dumbledore's sister and mother's tombstone -- Rita Skeeter wasn't lying about that part of her book, that was for sure. Familiar names popped into his vision and he couldn't hide his disturbing excitement. Hermione had to remind him to pipe down.

_Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also._

Perhaps it was a Dumbledore manner to talk in riddles. When Albus was alive, everything that came out of his mouth was assuring yet questionable, an answer yet a inquiry. He talked in riddles to make things harder for students, Harry was sure of that.

Hermione, tired of waiting for Harry to snap out of his daydreams, started roaming on her own, reading the last names on the tombstones, and waiting for one that she knew had to be around here somewhere. In the distance, she spotted a moss covered tombstone and thought she could make out a "IGNOT." She called Harry over and he reluctantly went to where she was.

"Harry, I think I've found somthing..."

Harry was in a rather foul mood, but she couldn't blame him -- it wasn't her parents they were looking for.

"Look, the symbol! From my book! It's on this grave... but I can't make out the name so much... IGNOT... IGNOTUS."

"And?"

"Look, it might have some sort of connection. I mean, what are the chances that it's inked into the book Dumbledore gave me and _this_ tombstone? It has to be important!"

Harry didn't know what she was going on about, but he wasn't interested. "I'm going to find my parents okay?" he huffed, almost adding "Don't bother me."

He pocketed his old, clammy hands (he was wearing the disguise of an old muggle man) and searched for the inevitable POTTER.

He thought he would never find it. The darkness came, as quickly as a thief in the night, and the silence became even more silent, if that was possible. There weren't even crickets here -- everything was truly just _dead_.

"Harry!" cried Hermione. He looked over his shoulder and saw her, a blurry figure amongst the snow. "I've found them. Right here. Here."

Harry knew what she meant -- his parents. He couldn't resist running towards her. They were just two rows behind the Dumbldores' graves. Trust fate to put what he wanted to see in the last place he'd bothered to search through.

Hermione, speechless, just stared at the letters engraved in stone. Harry read the words slowly, the names of his parents, the names of those who protected him, loved him, created him, and eventually left him behind.

JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER

BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960

DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981

_ The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

A surge of small anger overpowered him, at that last sentence. He told Hermione that was the ideal the DeathEathers followed. How could his parents share the same ideals as those monsters, those bastards who wanted to make his life harder than it should be?

Hermione explained that there was more than one meaning, that Death itself would be the last enemy, that it was the idea of living beyond death.

His anger was snuffed out, like a candle in the wind. Something inside him broke out. It was the little boy who for years wanted to know why his parents had to die, the little boy who cursed his family for leaving him behind, the little boy who cried as he befriended spiders and lived a terrible childhood. He was eight again, and he was sitting on the swing in the abandoned park, wondering what death felt like, if it was more painful than life.

_"Nothing will make them come back! So stop your crying, you look like a idiot!"_

_Uncle Vernon screamed at him, pulling him painfully by the arm, throwing him into the cupboard. He was slammed painfully against the makeshift bed, making spiders sway on their webs._

_"They're gone, Harry. They're DEAD! They won't be showing up on the doorstep, coming to pick you up, though I wish they would. They're not living, they will not be living ever again."_

_"My parents are alive! You're a liar, a big fat liar!"_

_"Oh, you dare to call me fat? I clothe you, I feed you, I provide a roof over your head and you treat me this way! No dinner tonight and that's final!"_

_A broken, whimpering Harry gave up and cried into his dirty sheets. Vernon Dursley, fuming like a train, watched his nephew. He wanted to feel bad for the cruel way he had spoken, but what could be done now? The boy's parents were killed, in a way he never could understand. He had better chances in life if he grew up with tough skin. Besides, the boy wasn't his flesh and blood. He didn't ask to raise the child, and he wouldn't if it was the last thing he'd do. _

_With a somewhat guilty glance away, he spotted Dudley spying on the argument. After realizing he was no longer invisible, the boy sped up the stairs. With a slight curse, Vernon Dudley slammed the cupboard door shut, locking it with a key he put back into his pocket._

_On the other side of the door, the little raven-haired, green-eyed boy slammed his body against the barrier. He screamed, "You're all liars! I have parents! They're alive! They're alive! They're... they're... alive!" _

_Dudley creeped down the stairs, listening to his cousin cry in despair. As quietly as a mouse, he sat down by the wall near the door. He wanted to say something, but he was at a loss for words. Gulping, he remained where he sat, listening and waiting for his cousin to get tired and give up. _

_It was something he did because he was curious. He wasn't particularly evil yet, he was just curious. He didn't relish in the fact that Harry was being punished. He just didn't like the way his father broke Harry's spirit. Was it absolutely necessary? _

_Harry watched the shadow from underneath the door shuffle out of view, the light from the hallway illuminating and replacing the space that used to sit there. He knew Dudley was there, but he couldn't explain why he was there. Harry realized, years later, it was the only thing he could do. _

As Harry reread the words as if he wanted to memorize the moment, he thought of his parents, his rotting, molding corpses of parents lying sixth feet under. They were something sacrificed so that he could exist, weren't they? A sacrifice for a sacrifice.

Harry refused to break down. He wouldn't, and Hermione taking his hand cautiously only helped him in his wavering strength. He squeezed her hand tightly, wanting her (and himself) to know that he wasn't alone in this. He had someone by his side, and he'd never be alone again. Hermione conjured up a wreath and Harry kneeled to put it on the stone.

He'd never forget this sight -- a splash of red roses on the cold, unforgiving symbol of everything he had never had but wanted with all his being.

He stood up, not wanting to stand another moment of this. Unconsciously, he put his arms around Hermione and felt hers wrap around his waist. He led them away, step by step, far away from the place he feared the most.

"Harry..." started Hermione, looking up at her best friend. Harry looked down at her, his face as solid as stone, but his eyes deceiving him the most.

"You told me that you'd never let me disappear."

He nodded, wondering what she was getting at. He wanted to cover as much distance as possible. If he didn't, he'd be tempted to stay forever, to become as dead and cold as the baby boy in the statue.

"I just wanted to say... I'll never let you disappear, either. I'm glad I was here for you, that it was me who held your hand."

"Okay."

"I just wanted to remind you that I will always be here, right by your side, no matter what, whether you like it or not."

"I know, Hermione. I know."

She nodded and broke their connection. Outsiders would have seen an elderly couple roaming around the graveyard, honoring a fallen loved one, and walking home. When Harry looked at Hermione, he did not see the old Muggle woman that she was disguised as. He saw the curious little girl who burst into his compartment, inquiring about a toad, who took a seat without asking, who forced herself into his world and never thought to leave. He saw forever, trust, love, and everything he knew he did not deserve.

Here, in her arms, was the second most scariest place he'd ever been. What would it feel like, if he'd never be here, ever again? Harry closed his eyes, blocked out the thoughts, and suppressed the feelings rising from within him.

Hermione noticed his hand squeeze her a little firmer than before, and she smiled. At least she knew he needed her as much as she needed him. Ginny be damned, this was one thing she'd never tell her red-headed friend.

* * *

Then the woman appeared.

"Harry, I don't like this at all. I just have a feeling."

"But she's the one who has all our answers -- Bathilda Bagshot!"

"Why isn't she talking? It seems a bit weird."

"She's old, Hermione."

"My grandfather's old too, but that doesn't mean he doesn't talk."

"Drop it, okay? We're following her."

"But I'm telling you... I have a bad feeling about this."

"You're just hungry, that's all. Now let's go, she's almost out of our line of vision."

Hermione looked over shoulder at the dark mass that once was his family's home, at the encouraging messages scrawled, and then back at the witch that was leading them to her home.

She remained silent, observing as her senses ran high. Turning into a cat that one Polyjuice incident made her trust her instinct and senses and right now, she saw a red warning sign flashing before her eyes.

She watched Harry disappear up the stairs, following the old kook. She was alone now, and waited. She looked through the kitchen for any food, but found stale, molding bread and rotting meat. Didn't the woman eat?

She was looking over at the remaining pictures in their frames, noting one of a blonde haired boy into her memory. She was about to drop it into her purse when she heard the screaming and crashing overhead. She ran up the stairs, burst into the room, and saw the snake.

"Harry!"

"Hermione, come here!"

She avoided the writhing snake and jumped towards Harry, who caught her. They jumped from surface to surface as he yelled out curses. The snake knocked the wand out of Harry's hand and Hermione quickly picked it up and let out a spell to distract the snake while they escaped out the window.

Harry screamed as he pulled them both through the air, but Hermione heard the crunching and cracking, a tell-tale sound that bode nothing well.

_I broke his wand! I broke his wand! Oh dear God, I broke his wand!_

They apparated, Harry collapsed, and Hermione rushed to take care of him. As she watched him writhe in his sleep, she was filled with terror of her own as she was forced to come up with an apology for snapping his wand in half.

* * *

She was dreading the moment he'd fall out of his frightful dreams and join the conscious world again. As Harry settled down, her terror grew. The moment those green eyes opened, she wanted to run, far away and never look back.

"Where's my wand?" Harry mumbled, looking for his glasses. He found them and repeated his question.

"It was an honest mistake, Harry, I promise."

"Where's my wand?" His tone was darker, deeper.

"Please don't be angry at me!"

"_Where's my wand_?"

Hermione closed her eyes, sighed, and showed Harry the broken thing in her hand.

"Fix it."

"Harry, I don't think --"

"Mend it, Hermione!"

"I can't. It's like what happened to Ron, he--"

"Give me your wand." His eyes were a dark green, a lightning storm raging within them.

"Harry, you've got to see. Ron broke his and he could never repair it. He had to order a new one!"

Harry fumed like a bull that had seen the largest piece of red material in his life. He wanted to choke Hermione, almost, for breaking his wand. He kept his hands at his side, to make sure he wouldn't.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know the spell would backfire like that. I honestly am sorry."

"It was an accident. We'll fix it somehow." The words came out his mouth without him thinking about it. Right now, he felt like a robot; no emotion, no control, no feeling.

"But I really don't think it's possible. And you know --"

"Give me your wand. I'll use it for now on, too."

Hermione cringed, pulling hers out and handing it over to Harry. He looked at the stick in his hand, felt its lightness, and wanted to scream out of frustration, anger, and every bloody feeling in the world other than happiness and joy.

_I don't want to talk to you. Don't look at me. Disappear, now. Disappear before I murder you, Hermione._

She didn't need to hear the words. Hermione proceeded to do so, hiding somewhere in the tent where she would not see Harry so he could not see her. His back was turned so she could escape quietly.

She snuck underneath her bed, something she used to do when she was young. When she did that, she felt invisible. When her parents (oh, what could they be doing now) disappointed her, she disappeared under her bed, waiting for them to find that she was not there, to make them worry, to scare them, to teach them that they shouldn't take her for granted.

There wouldn't be any voices of concern here, of her parents' or Harry's for that matter. She knew she did something terribly ghastly and thought she could never apologize. Harry was absolutely frightening, the way he looked at her with disgrace and ... _hatred_.

She choked on her tears, smothering her mouth with her fist. She did not want to be heard, because she would not receive consolation now. Harry hated her, she knew it, and he would never accept her apology. She had done the worst thing possible, second to betraying him to Lord Voldemort. She had taken away his wizardhood, his wand, the symbol of his power and strength.

She bit down on her hand to make sure she would not make a sound; she was truly gone from his sight. She remained under that bed the entire night. She fell asleep, exhausted from the traumatic events. She did as Harry asked her to, in a silent request, and she would not let herself appear again.

* * *

Harry didn't know when he stopped huffing, walking in place, punching at invisible enemies, and staring at the broken pieces of wand in his pocket. Who was he now, lacking a wand? He tried Reparo a thousand times, but the magic refused to work.

When magic ends, desperation begins.

In his anger, he forgot that Hermione was still around. Where was she?

A voice in his head told him he didn't care. He didn't care that she disappeared. He didn't care that she was gone. And for a night, he believed it.

* * *

He cursed until he fell asleep. In his dreams, he saw himself with Hermione in the ocean. The waters were troubled, the sky was angry, and for some reason, they were being saved. However, their savior was telling them he had only one spot in his little boat. He could only save one person. Shocked, he saw his dream self grab the man's hand instantly. He was hoisted onto the boat, and he looked down at Hermione, flailing in the water. She was crying out to him, asking for his hand, and he did nothing. The boat was pulling away, and he saw the fin of a shark surround Hermione. He did nothing. He saw the shark jump from the water and take her down, bushy hair and orange life jacket and all. He did nothing still.

"Aren't you going to save her?" said his savior, who was manning the steering wheel. Dream Harry said no, staring at the spot where Hermione used to be. He turned to look at his savior and saw the man transform into a monster.

"Yes, Harry. Don't save her. Kill her." Voldemort was cackling in delight. The black robed monster flew towards him, his slimy hands stretched outwards, reaching to smother him, to destroy him for his selfishness.

His eyes shot open at this, and he called out for Hermione. He saw that her bed was still made, that she never slept in it. Terrified, he jumped out of his bed, grabbed her wand, and ran outside.

"Hermione! Hermione! Where are you?" he screamed at top of his voice. He didn't know which way to run. He screamed, standing still, and feeling a dread eat at his spirit.

_Where is she? Why isn't she answering?_

"Hermione!" His voice echoed back, mocking him.

"I told you I'd never leave your side, whether you like it or not," said a tiny voice behind him.

He turned around, teary-eyed, and looked at the disheveled, slightly dirty girl who stared at him with the most sorrowful brown eyes he had ever seen.

She nodded, blinked away some tears, and looked at the sun rising in the distance. She bit on her lip to make her stop feeling so melodramatic.

"But you let me disappear, Harry. You promised me you'd never let me do that," she said finally, letting the tears fall freely.


	5. Part V

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **Well, the plot is semi-borrowed from J.K. Rowling, as well as the bolded words in this chapter. But the words _between the lines_ are all my own. My thoughts, my desires, my imagination. Isn't that just delicious?

**Author's Note:**

Ach! I'm terribly sorry. I'm so slow on updates. I'm currently on a three-day break from college. I came home, reread some parts of The Deathly Hallows and decided to finally be nice to you guys. Thanks for the reviews and new subscribers. You make me feel guilty enough to keep writing, which in a sick way keeps me motivated. Have fun!

* * *

My feet is my only carriage  
And so I've got to push on through.  
Oh, while I'm gone,  
Everything's gonna be all right!  
Everything's gonna be all right!

**Bob Marley **- _No Woman No Cry_

* * *

"You let me disappear, Harry."

Harry looked at the weeping girl, whose hunched, shaking shoulders made her look so vulnerable he wanted to hug her.

So he did.

She stiffened at the contact, but eventually eased into the embrace, letting her sobs vibrate against his hard chest and beating heart. It had been quite a while since he hugged her, and the act felt foreign. It should never have felt foreign.

At Hogwarts, he always hugged her. He could pinpoint specific memories in which she ran into his arms, squeezing him so tightly, with surprising strength. She always ran to him, nearly tackling him with her weight. Given that she was as heavy as a pillow full of feathers, she had the power to knock him off his feet, literally and figuratively.

With any other girl, he felt awkward and daft. When he first kissed Cho, he thought his heart would explode at the rate at which it was beating. His hands had felt clammy, and he sweated like he just played Quidditch for an entire day. When he touched Ginny, he felt guilty at times, like he was doing something wrong. Strange feelings would claw at him, like the butterflies that invaded his stomach had suddenly spawned razor sharp wings and started cutting him up inside. Somehow, he thought Ron would always turn the corner and spot them snogging, thus initiating the "big brother" in him, which probably would result in Harry on the ground, with an awful purple eye and broken glasses.

"The last time I was this upset was during the Yule Ball... or rather, after it," murmured Hermione, who had wrapped her arms around Harry's neck while his hands rested comfortably on her feminine hips.

"Oh," said Harry, who really had no clue what to say.

"You and Ron flew up the stairs, and I just sat there for fifteen minutes. I took off those bloody heels and nearly chucked them at Malfoy, who left the dance around the same time and wouldn't leave me alone. He wasn't particularly cruel, but he was acting strange," reminisced Hermione.

"You looked so beautiful that night, that I highly doubt anyone could muster up an insult. Even Malfoy looked dazed when he saw you enter the room. You enchanted everyone at the dance." Harry looked down at her, smiling and remembering.

He could picture that moment as if it was ingrained at the back of his mind. He was looking for Cho, wondering how she would react to his polished appearance, but he heard his date gasp, and turned to find his friend glide down the stairs in a flash of pink and glamour. His breath had caught in his throat, and he nearly choked on air.

"Yes," whispered Hermione softly. The wind blew softly and the stars shone bright in the night sky. The rather romantic moment was destroyed when both teenagers thought they heard a voice shouting in the distance, as well as a rustling of leaves.

Harry pulled Hermione back into the tent, throwing up extra protection charms with her wand. He nearly forgot about his own obliterated wand, which lied in pieces beneath his pillow. Harry stood near the tent flap while Hermione sat on her bed, as alert as a soldier in a threatening situation.

They remained that way for quite a while, until Harry felt it was safe enough to go to bed. Harry had levitated and placed his bed closer to Hermione's, so that if someone had broken through the shields he put up, he would not have to worry about Hermione being hurt first.

They stared at each other until both eventually surrendered to exhaustion.

It had been an exasperating night.

* * *

A day or two passed and they travelled onward, in no general direction. They consistently heard voices shouting, but they eventually subsided. Harry reasoned that they were just misinterpreting the sound of the wind through the trees.

Harry was lying in a meadow near the camp site, toying with his useless wand. He twirled the pieces of wood, wondering how he would proceed on his journey to defeat Voldemort. A tiny part of him was still angry at Hermione, but he decided that it was not her fault and that he would somehow find a way to work through this, with her help, of course.

He was looking into the distance of the icy kelly green meadow, wondering what Ginny was doing at the moment, where Ron was, if he was still alive, and if he'd ever see both Weasleys ever again.

A hand presented a cup of tea which he gratefully accepted and drank quickly. The warm, burning liquid spilled onto his throat and shirt. Hermione giggled, mocking him about his inability to keep himself dry. She stared at the water droplets that clung to his lips, which he expertly licked away with a slight movement of his tongue. She had to look away at the unintentionally sensual image.

"So do you have any new ideas about this quest of ours?" Harry said, not knowing why Hermione flushed but thought it was better not to ask.

"Well," Hermione said, after clearing her throat, "Remember at Bathilda Bagshot's house, when I was downstairs while you were fighting off that awful snake? I looked around, and found some interesting things. I saw the picture of the blonde thief you were talking about. I was going to drop it into the bag but then I heard all the ruckus and had no time. But before that, I saw this book on the kitchen table. A note was posted on it, which strangely enough was from Rita Skeeter."

"Rita Skeeter? She knew Bathilda Bagshot?"

"Well, she was the source from whom she got all the nitty gritty details of Professor Dumbledore's life. I even snatched the book, just in case we ever needed it. Besides, I need something new to read. I only have the book that Dumbledore gave me, and even that is just starting to get annoying."

"So you've read Rita's book?" asked Harry. Hermione shook her head in reply.

"We've been so preoccupied I nearly forgot I put it into the bag," she said. "But I started flipping through the pages, and... well, just read it for yourself."

She handed him the book, which she had placed on the grass beside her. He placed it before them, and their eyes skimmed down the words. Hermione had finished before Harry, but she stared at his expression, feeling worried as it changed from apathetic to one of disbelief.

Before he could say any word, she reminded him that Rita Skeeter, who really did not have the best track record on honest writing, had published those words. He replied that with some of the evidence, it seemed plausible that the sleazy journalist might have been telling the truth for once.

A feeling of inner certainty crashed inside him, like an anvil at the bottom of his stomach, making him feel sick for some reason. This was same feeling that struck him when he watched Ron run away, with Hermione right behind him.

"What are you thinking right now, Harry?" his best girl friend asked. She was biting her bottom lip, worried that she made the wrong decision by showing him this book.

"It feels like the world is slowly falling apart, right around me," Harry said, rather morosely. His eyes stared into the distance, once again, not wanting to see Hermione's reaction to his depressing words.

"Well, would you like to elaborate, Mr. Emotional Teenager?" joked Hermione, who wanted to lighten up the mood of their conversation. She was tired of these depressing chats. If anything, Ron was good at lifting the tension during their dramatic moments. He did not contribute much to the discussions, but he always knew when and how to pull them away from depression.

But he wasn't here now, and it didn't matter. Or so she thought.

"I thought I knew who I could trust in, Hermione. I thought Ron would be by our sides, but where is he now? Is he even still alive?" said Harry, who ignored her gasp.

"How could you say that? Of course, he is still alive."

"How do you know? When was the last time you saw him or talked to him?"

"Harry, please. Don't take us back there. We've wasted enough time on that."

"I'm sorry. It's just that... I don't know who to trust anymore."

"You can trust me, Harry. You know that."

Harry sighed, taking her hand and squeezing it slightly. "I know that, but I mean, with other people. Ron abandoned us. Professor Dumbledore did too."

"He had no power over that. He might have been an amazing wizard, but he can't fight death. No one can."

"No, I mean that I always thought he'd be there to help me. I remember at Hogwarts, that whenever I had a problem, I always knew that I could visit him in his office. But now, he's gone. He's rotting away in some casket of stone, not with us."

"He died, with protecting you in mind. Please remember that."

"I know. But I feel so angry! Rita Skeeter wrote that part of his life story, in such a way that he seems almost tainted, like a prejudiced Pureblood wizard like the Malfoys."

"You can't trust Rita Skeeter's words. Remember what she did to Hagrid?"

"I'm angry at Dumbledore, not Rita Skeeter. I know _she_ is a scumbag, but she makes him sound like he is one too. And I'm starting to believe her."

"How can you say that? You know Professor Dumbledore always had your best interest at heart."

"Did he really, Hermione? Do you think he still has our best interest at heart? Why did he send us on this useless quest, where we don't ever pick up clues and we're always running into dangerous situations?"

"He didn't know that would happen."

"What if he did? What if he's making us risk out spines, as well as our lives, for some sick desire of his? How many times has he misled us, since the beginning? Do you think I'm stupid, that I haven't noticed how many mistakes he's made for me?"

"He's just a man, Harry. He was just a man. You trusted him, and that's what matters."

"Oh yeah, Hermione? Well, here's the sickest part of this whole thing. _He never trusted me_!"

"What do you mean?"

"He never told me the complete truth, about this, about everything. And if he did, he only said it after it was too late to do anything. Like with SIrius, and with this quest."

"Maybe he was trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what? Voldemort? No one can protect me from that deranged, psychotic warlord."

"He _loved_ you, Harry. He protected you because he loved you!"

"How do you know that?"

Hermione placed her hand on his chest, on top of his heart. Harry looked at her strangely, and was about to say something when she said, "Do you honestly believe Harry, that in your heart, in your soul, that Professor Dumbledore did not care about you? That he did not love you like a son?"

Hermione searched Harry's eyes for some sort of negotiation. His eyes were a stormy green, filled with uncertainty, anger, and confusion.

"**I don't know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn't love, the mess he's left me in. He shared a damned sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me," **he said in such a tone of finality that Hermione felt the pain in her own heart.

"You forget that he eventually ended up fighting and defeating Grindelwald," she said in a calm voice.

"Well, he'd rather trust his best friend-turned-enemy than me, the person who completely trusted him with his own life? That's a sick form of love, if it is love at all."

"Harry, I --"

"I think I'm tired of this conversation, Hermione. I'm going to go take a nap." Harry dismissed himself, taking their empty cups to the tent. Hermione followed, with the book in her hands.

Harry was under his covers, his face drowning in his pillow. She brushed her hand over his hair, patting lightly. She whispered a few words of encouragement, and took a seat on her own bed. She wanted to read the rest of the atrocious biography, to see if it would help them on their quest in any way.

Harry kept thinking in his mind, _I wish I could believe you, Hermione. He never cared for me._ _I thought he did, but what kind of man would do this to someone he cared for? Forcing upon them a quest of such monumental circumstance, without giving them enough information to even know which direction to step first?_

"Harry, everything will be alright. Don't worry. Just go to sleep."

"I wish I could believe you. I really do. You don't know that everything will be alright," he said, in a rather whiny tone.

"When have I ever been dishonest to you, Harry James Potter? Do you or do you not have your complete confidence in me?"

"I do."

"Well, then, believe me now. Just go to sleep. You need it."

"Thanks, Hermione. Thanks for being here, with me."

"Don't worry about it, Potter. I wouldn't be anywhere else."

"You sure about that?"

"Positive."

"Good," said Harry, with a smile. He drifted into sleep.

Hermione smiled at the boy with unruly hair. Seeing that he had left his glasses on, she climbed off her bed and walked over to him. She turned his face with his hands, and gently pulled the glasses off. She placed them on a table near by and stared at Harry for a few moments.

"You have the world on your shoulders, Harry Potter. I hope you remember that I'll always be near you, with a helping hand."

"Hermione," Harry murmured in his sleep, as his lips formed a smile.

She gasped, realizing he was dreaming about her.

She blushed furiously, retreating to her bed and her book.

_I'll never tell a soul._

* * *

Dream Harry had jumped off the boat, into the dark and treacherous waters of the angry ocean. He swam deeper and deeper into the sea, until he saw Hermione's almost unconscious form desperately pushing herself up to the surface. He grabbed her and pushed both of them up, using the muscles of his legs.

Hermione gasped as they both came up for air. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and cried his name several times.

"I thought you were going to let me disappear, into the ocean, Harry. I was so scared. I thought I was going to die," she whimpered into his shoulder.

"Never, never again will I ever even think of that," he assured her, placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Harry," she said, her eyes shining with gratitude.

"Hermione," he replied back, a smile creeping onto his face.

He kissed her.

His lips crashed onto hers, plunging deep, and latched on.

He dreamed that she kissed him back, with just as much passion.

It was just a dream... right?


	6. Part VI

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **J.K.R. owns the characters. I own my imagination. Yeah, it's not so valuable, but it's enough.

**Author's Note:**

I'm surprised and so grateful for the rate of new readers and reviews I've received. I decided to take this a little faster. I don't like stories that drag on forever, like some of you readers so here's something sexy. Or the introduction to something sexy. This story finally deserves the rating I gave it -- **RATED M**, so kiddies, don't read. I'm terrible at writing sex scenes. I'm just warning you... so don't come to me saying "that was so unsexy" because my forte lies in poetic flow, not graphic details.

* * *

Well, you're either lovers or you're wanting to be lovers or

you're trying not to be lovers so you can be friends, but any way you look at it,

sex is always looming in the picture like a shadow, like an undertow.

** Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider**

* * *

**Part VI**

Harry was disturbed by his dreams. He had always been. If he was just another unimportant, insignificant wizard, he'd give no thought about what he dreamed of, but he wasn't. He was Harry bloody Potter. He exhumed "special" from the thunderbolt-shaped scar on his forehead to the magic tingling in his swift feet.

Once upon a time. the dreams involving Voldemort struck a chord of fear in his heart, but these days, things were different. Perhaps it was the time he realized that girls had breasts and curves and those same feminine qualities haunted him in his rather naughty dreams. One time or another, he imagined Hermione in such a way, but he brushed those thoughts away, like dust on his robe collar. But now?

Things were _different_.

Dreams of Hermione, the ocean of uncertainty, and Voldemort intertwined. They were nightmares at first, but over the last few nights, they had been changing -- for the better _and_worse, if you looked at it in certain ways.

They were better -- none of the glowing stoplight red eyes of Lord Voldemort, his slimy demeanor, his snake-like face, his powerful magic -- but at the same time, Harry found himself waking up disoriented, sweating profusely, and breathing like an asthmatic. He pictured breasts, curves, brown sultry eyes. Who else? If memory served him right, Ginny had _red_ hair.

And the fact those breasts, curves, and eyes were always in a 1 mile radius to him didn't make his confused feelings change. He really wanted to walk past that flashing yellow line in his imagination that was warning him it was a bad, terrible, horrible idea, but his hormones would hear nothing of it.

One day, soon perhaps, he'd step past that line and take what he wanted. He promised himself. Even if their world collapsed around them and the earth opened up and swallowed them into the bowels of hell, he'd go down fighting, knowing that at least he crossed off another "What if?" off his list of things that he never did, but always wanted to do, but never got around doing, for whatever reason.

The day was coming, he could feel it in his bones. A whisper of a promise flowing in his blood, sending strange sensations all throughout his being.

He never thought of what would happen _after_, though.

Perhaps he should have.

He was never good at these sorts of things anyways -- planning, finding logic, or dealing with consequences. He only cared for the _right nows_ and _this moments_.

He stared at the piece of crumbling parchment in his left pocket._Whatever you may say, I don't regret what we did._

"Hermione, you don't even _know._"

He stuffed the note back into his pocket, and watched the fading form of Hermione, who was currently finding dry wood for a camp fire.

Harry shook his head.

He was never a rational thinker -- that was his vice. He jumped into things.

Hermione -- she never knew what was coming.

* * *

Hermione noticed the slight change in Harry's behavior. He was jumpy -- more than normal, if that was possible -- and quick to react. He stared longer than comfortable, and breathed her name in his sleep. She didn't know how to respond at all. 

She appreciated the attention, as sick as it was. No one had done this in quite a while. Ron was as attentive as a young child who discovered the magic of a rotating doorway while their parents taught him quantum physics. Viktor Krum? He was a dream -- an illusion from a lifetime ago.

She remembered how he stared at her, from across the dining room, and through book shelves at the library. It was unsettling, this sudden crush. She didn't know how to handle the attention. Glances came her way, questions rising in people's eyes, asking... _Why her? What does she have that I don't? Her? Never. She's cast a spell on him. She must have. That's all she knows how to do. Cast spells and recite facts._

She pushed Viktor away, because she couldn't handle the pressure that her peers placed on her. Every step she took was monitored, and reported to everyone -- everyone knew when the Quidditch star had taken her hand in his and knew how she pulled away. They knew the kisses he stolen as they walked on the lake shore together, the way his hands graced her hips in a _much too familiar_ manner at the dance.

She couldn't stand being placed on a pedestal, a stage, or even a cage, while the world watched her every move, her every breath, and every word.

But... where was everyone now?

**Gone**.

They didn't know. They didn't have to know. The stolen glances, the hidden smiles, the obvious desire building between two friends. They were their secrets. No one had to know; not Ron, not Ginny, not anyone.

The tension was building, within her as well. A strange knot at the pit of her stomach, tying and untying only to create more complicated knots -- knots she did not know how to take care of.

She was a logical girl, a practical witch. She knew the solution lied in the person before her, or rather behind her -- as she was walking into the forest, looking for fire wood. The only problem was... _was the feeling reciprocal_?

Was he feeling the same torturous pain as she? Did he lose his breath every time they unconsciously shared an intimate moment, a touch? Did his fingers tingle as they brushed hands as they walked onward, towards an invisible destination?

She_had_ to know.

She always was a curious girl -- that was her vice.

Curiosity killed the cat, as the cliche went, but this cat was a smart one. Curiosity would only burn her, at worst, but she would never let it kill her. Letting it linger in the way that she had for all this time would surely end in her death, her figurative death of her heart and soul.

She wouldn't let that happen.

She was Hermione Granger, for Merlin's sake.

_He doesn't even know what's coming. Poor boy._

It was for the better, she reasoned. Harry was good at dealing with surprises -- his whole life was a huge, outstanding surprise. Or so she liked to think.

She never thought she'd be the one who ended up being surprised.

Stupid, logical, intelligent girl.

* * *

It was snowing -- and not in the beautiful way, like during the winters at Hogwarts. They could feel the chill seeping into their skin, penetrating their bones, and searching for the warmth, just to extinguish it, like a pathetic fire. 

They didn't dare step outside in this weather, so they stayed huddled in the tent most of the days. There weren't enough warming spells to fight away the cold that bombarded them. They were forced to be around each other -- literally -- for days end.

It was like that Muggle game Pac-Man. They were the little yellow dots being chased by colorful ghosts -- the colorful ghosts being the desires that chased them, as well as the people they would be disappointing -- and ingesting little fruits all the while. What exactly were the fruits? Little accomplishments: holding hands here, an embrace there, a chaste kiss on the forehead.

This dance, this game -- it was going to end, and soon. Their nerves could not possibly handle the suspense. It was as if Voldemort had placed land mines all over the place, and they maneuvered around each other, scared but waiting for an explosion to end their troubles.

An explosion -- well, it wasn't exactly so exclamatory as that, but they felt their worlds quake. No one ever said an earthquake was inferior to an explosion. Both uproot foundations upon which others have depended on, both force "what might haves" to happen, and both change peoples' lives -- forever.

He was a boy. She was a girl. They did what boys and girl know how to do best -- explore each other.

* * *

The atmosphere was especially chilly this morning. Hermione had to force Harry to fetch water for hot tea two times already -- and it was barely past eleven. Harry's teeth chattered as he tried to do pushups to warm his blood. 

"I don't know why it's so dreary," Hermione said, tightening the hold her hands had on her upper arms. She watched Harry's chest drop, touch the ground, and bounce back up.

So that's why he wasn't a scrawny little thing anymore.

He continued doing push ups for a few minutes, until his arms refused to hold him up anymore, due to the ice that numbed his fingers. Beads of sweat literally turned into icicles as they dropped from his defined cheekbones towards his blue tinged lips.

Hermione had barely done anything -- aside from staring, and trying to not forget how to breathe -- but she felt a fire rise within her, and warmth flush outwards, all over her body. She felt it in her cheeks, which she guessed were as bright as tomatoes.

"Are you ill? You look a bit flushed?" asked Harry, who, in a quick stride, reached the other side of the room to hold the backside of his palm on her forehead. She mustered some words of negation but the contact only made her condition worse.

Harry looked at her knowingly and smirked a smirk so dangerously similar to a certain Slytherin they knew, and excitement built up in her bones. He was looking so devilishly handsome at that moment -- she had to turn her face away, out of his hands, to find reason.

"Let me fix up some more tea. I swear... Dementors must have passed through this area. There's no possible way it can be this naturally chilly." She moved towards the make-shift kitchen, where her shaky hands spilled scalding hot water onto her skin, rather than the two tea cups that were their primary destination.

She hissed, taking the injured area near her mouth, blowing cold air in order to numb the pain. Her back was turned to Harry, whose nerves and hormones collided as he watched his best friend, wondering how it would feel to have those lips blowing softly on his now scalding hot skin.

He was determined, he was desperate, he was sure that it was time to finally make his move. His eyes were slits of green desire. He knew he probably looked psychotic right now -- his blood was humming with lust, muffling a song of things he should do and would do and would not regret.

Hermione turned as he took his final steps towards her, gasped at the almost demonic demeanor that took over her once calm, composed _friend_. His hands, placed on the course wooden table, kept her where she was, and he leaned forward, letting his chapped lips roughly move towards his best friend's.

Hermione felt the _thing_ within her, the fire, the desire, just burst. She met him halfway, and their teeth clacked as they finally did what they wanted to do. She whimpered and he growled, and the attack continued. Whom was attacking whom? Neither knew, neither _cared_.

Her hands reached his unruly, surprisingly soft hair, as she tiptoed to kiss him more effectively. His large, masculine hands grasped her rather sexy hips as they pulled her up against him. His glasses were fogging up and nearly broke at their repeated collision, so he took them and tossed them over his shoulder. Hermione laughed at the motion, and he took this opportunity to slip his tongue into the mouth he had dreamed of exploring, for years, even if he didn't choose to realize it.

Her hands moved towards his the bottom of his jumper, which she pulled up. He helped her, as it got stuck on his broad shoulders. He also threw that over his shoulder, and though both were to preoccupied to notice, it fell on top of a picture, a picture they both cherished.

A young Hermione, Harry, and Ron laughed, their arms hooked over each other's shoulders. Hermione looked at Harry, a silent smile on her face, and both boys stared directly at the camera. Ron would not witness this, even if he was in a picture.

Harry captured Hermione's eyes with his steely gaze, instinctively forming a question of approval of his future actions. Her brown eyes, sparkling, answered with a huge, prominent, loud YES.

Harry grasped her hips again, and lifted her up onto the table, ignoring her scream of surprise, and proceeded to run his hands down her curves, first breezingly brushing the undersides of her breasts, and moving slowly down her stomach, towards the top of her corduroy pants, dipping naughtily, but rising back up again, repeating the same motion.

Hermione knew her answer already. Her body was humming with pleasure so intensely that she was astonished Harry couldn't hear it. His hands pulled her own jumper off her, at such an expert speed that she knew this wasn't the first time he did this, but she didn't care. There were times to think, and _right now_ was not the time.

His fingers lingered on the buttons of her white collared long-sleeve shirt, and his eyes wandered up back to hers, asking again.

Hermione blinked, closing her eyes, hoping it would make the sensations dull a bit, but realizing there was no other cure, other than this boy -- no, this _man_ before her.

"Harry, please. Don't torture me this way. Just, don't. _Please_," she pleaded, her eyes staring straight as Harry's. The way she nearly growled that last please almost ruined it for the both of them, seeing as his obviously aroused member probably couldn't take anymore.

He smirked at her, in that same devilish way, and fear, as well as excitement, ran through her blood.

"Please," she said weakly, entranced by his powerful gaze.

"_Okay, whatever you say_," he whispered.

Hermione closed her eyes, and let her head fall back on the table, as she let her pliant body surrender to Harry.

He gazed down at her submissive form, and his mind nearly exploded at the possibilities.

This was _their_ secret. That was certain.


	7. Part VII

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **I rented the characters from J.K. Rowling. The horrible sex scene belongs to me, though. Yeah, _awkward_!

**Author's Note:**  
I was debating whether to actually write this, or be cruel and make it all a flashback for a later chapter or something, but I decided to be nice (I think). I am not an expert on this sort of material. Repeat. I am TERRIBLE at this sort of scene. Don't get mad at me if you hate it. And there are **no** religious connotations regarding the last line of this chapter.

**WARNING:** This chapter is **Rated M**. If you cannot buy a lotto ticket, a pack of cigs, or get into a 18 and older night club, stop reading now. Honestly, I want you innocent people to stay innocent.

* * *

The true feeling of sex is that of

a deep intimacy, but above all

of a deep complicity

**James Dickey **

* * *

**Part VII**

As he watched more and more articles of clothing fly over his shoulder, and slowly more skin being exposed, a sudden mixture of adrenaline and fear rushed through his bloodstream, sending him over the edge. He remembered the day he peeped on Hermione bathing, how interested he was, how quickly he turned away so that she would not see his physical reactions. Just like Hermione, everything was on the table now. There would be no more hiding.

However, the moment he had stepped beyond that line of friendship, into the dark waters of something more, he felt the fear disappear. It was strange, seeing as he'd been thinking something horrible would happen at their initial touch, such as lightning striking down onto his disheveled head of hair or the outbreak of a horrible rash.

He guided his member into her, both gasping at the sudden sensation. Her big, brown eyes stared at him, glazed and dazed, and her mouth opened in pleasure, and a broken sigh escaped her thoroughly-kissed lips, spelling out the situation at hand.

He'd heard from other boys at Hogwarts about this moment, this mind-blowing sensation of being _in_ a woman, of penetrating and claiming her, but he blew it off as false talk fabricated by bravado and limitless, dirty imaginations. He was always too busy trying not dying to even dream of having such illicit affairs with girls. Besides, all the girls he took interest in were either taken by other boys, dead and alive, or generally not available.

"Oh," he said, staring down at his friend, not thinking, but not knowing what to do next. He knew what he was _supposed _to do, of course. Thrust. Withdraw. Repeat. It was human nature, but his guy friends never said anything about the connection, the exhilarating feeling of bonding with someone on such an intimate level. He snapped out of his mental rant and returned to the woman before him. Her eyes were closed, and a smile danced across her face, but he shook with need, and asked her if she was comfortable.

"Move, Harry, move." That was all he needed. His calloused hands grabbed the soft curves of Hermione's hips, and trailed down her pale thighs, reaching her ankles, guiding her legs to wrap around his own hips, bringing her closer in more ways than one. This was only the beginning, he reminded himself.

"Merlin, Hermione," he gasped, slowly building a momentum, his thrusts hesitant and soft, as he forced himself to watch her reactions, so that he knew how he was doing. He really wanted to close his own eyes and relish the feeling, but he needed to stay observant. Harry Potter was not a virgin, but he wasn't exactly a sex god, though many girls at Hogwarts probably imagined him to be. Just as he was in everyday situations, except Quidditch of course, he was clumsy, not untalented but lacking certain skills, and working on a whim of chance and luck. If she looked happy, he must have been doing something right. Right?

* * *

Hermione's mind was a jumble of phrases, images, and thoughts flashing and disappearing, as she gave into the new sensations of the pleasure of the flesh. She was a virgin, as most of her friends predicted, but she wasn't a prude. She had experienced some things with certain boys, one being the foreign Quidditch star and the other a ginger-haired kid who took too long to notice how she felt. At the moment, she could not focus on what their names exactly were -- because, she was, in fact, a little _preoccupied_ with a certain de-spectacled, green-eyed familiar character in her life. 

She listened to her girlfriends talk about their experiences, whether she desired to or not, and most stories involved discomfort, miscommunication, and a lot of pain. However, as she was held, in such an intimate manner, by her best friend, she did not feel any of that, at all. Sure, there was the initial pain as her maidenhood, the thing that others valued her for, as well as both the Muggle and Magical societies she existed in, was torn down, but this was Harry. He might have participated in dangerous sports, gone on nail-biting adventures, and exuded manliness from the bothered, ruffled hair that sat atop his handsome head, to the shoulders that held their world's burdens, to the legs that ran so that others would live another day, to the toes that chilled her own when they found each other in comprising situations on cold nights, but really, he was a gentle, not-so-giant, soul.

She imagined she would have experienced this with Ron, but as she watched Harry's face as he continued his energetic effort, she did not think at all. For the first time in her life, she allowed the barriers she put up so that she was protected from the cruelties of both of her worlds, to fall, so she could really feel and really _know_ what it meant to _live for the moment_. There was no shadow looming at the back of her mind, shaking his head in disappointment, yelling in rage, and degrading her for her decision. She held onto Harry, never wanting him to stop.

"Yes," she whispered, smiling a smile of physical and emotional completion, as she closed her eyes, and felt. Just felt.

* * *

Her toes were curling at the pleasure. 

For an amateur, Harry made up the expertise he lacked, with eagerness and energy, that sent her into the throes of passion, or whatever it was that was continually described in the romance novels she allowed herself to read from time to time.

His hands had left her hip, and he leaned forward, taking ahold the edge of the table above Hermione's mass of hair, with both hands. He felt her breasts rise and fall with her breaths at the sudden closeness, and nearly growled in relief at the new sensation given by the different angle of their connection.

His Quidditch teammates described this like a Quidditch game. He distinctly remembered Oliver Wood's linguistically distorted advice to take it slow at first, but gain momentum, and to always go big at the end, and to end in victory. Sure, maybe sex couldn't be linked to Quidditch in all comparisons, but it was nearly the same thing. Or maybe Wood really was just talking about Quidditch -- no matter, there were better things to think of at the moment.

He leaned down, and left a trail of kisses down Hermione's face, capturing her lips in a desperate kiss, letting his tongue battle with hers. His mouth muffled her moans, as loosened the grip of one of his hands on the table to allow it to hold her neck gently, and slowly move downwards, only to land surprisingly, or not, on another region of her skin. He squeezed a breast softly, and literally feeling the moan that rose in her, he became more adventurous, detaching his lips from hers, only to replace where his hand was. He let his tongue flicker across her nipple, noticing how she whimpered at his sudden change of plans, and lightly bit.

Her body rose off the table, curving in a delicious manner, as she felt the knot that had been forming all the while in her stomach to slowly untwine itself, as stars blinded her vision, and felt a release she had never experienced before, not even with her own personal adventures at night. Harry, feeling her warmth, sped up his movement, and followed her, letting himself come apart after a few hard thrusts.

They both gasped for air, as their bodies cooled down from their sexual activity. Harry's arms burned with the effort of holding himself up for so long, so he allowed himself to collapse gently onto Hermione, his head curving into the nook of her shoulder. Hermione stared at the ceiling, feeling her best friend's breath on her neck, and wondered what to say now that their irrationality had passed, and logic had to return. One of her hands grazed the curve of his unclothed hip as the other played with his even more unruly hair.

"I don't regret a single moment of what just happened, and so shouldn't you," Harry whispered, knowing that the machine inside her giant brain was probably formulating a debate, rebuttal, or speech about how everything they just did was wrong. Though he was a male, he certainly knew the inner-workings of her mind, which saved his life on several occasions. It was time to finally his turn to save her from the anguish she could possibly put herself through. "But I must say... why didn't we do this earlier?"

Hermione laughed, and everything was right again. Contrary to popular belief, they didn't need a ginger-headed class clown to lighten up the mood. Even Harry Potter had a sense of humor that would, and did, lift the tension off a very tense situation.

* * *

Nothing major changed. They still worked together to think of clues. Hermione still thought of Ron. Harry still though of Ginny, as well as Ron, but not as often as before. Hermione thought of Harry, and Harry thought of Hermione much more. 

But the footsteps of a familiar red-headed boy slowly caught up to them. His only thought was to find his friends and make up for lost time. He wondered if they would ever forgive him for the things he'd done.

Would he forgive them, their trespasses?


	8. Part VIII

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **I don't even own some of the cheesy pick up lines that I decided to insert into this chapter... so pretty much, I own nothing that involves Harry Potter world.

**Author's Note:**

I'm honored and amazed and grateful (damn, look at that onslaught of and's) for all the reviews that I've received for the last few chapters of Between The Lines. Surely, I never realized that this little plot bunny of mine would ever result into something as successful as it has turned out to be. Thank you for new subscriptions to alerts and whatnot, and to reviewers especially (who did not AK me for my lack of skills in sex/smut writing, thank Merlin!), and everyone else that somehow found their way onto my stories' page. Keep reading, keep reviewing! I love it when I check my mail and I see all the alerts from . Honestly, I do.

**WARNING:**

There's some extreme flirtation in this chapter. It's not sugary-sweet, so I don't feel the need for a plastic bag or something to yak into, but if you feel it is necessary, grab the proper materials before reading a single world of this chapter. Oh, and there are implications of naughty stuff going on, but unless you can figure out these implications, I guess this a safe chapter -- but then again, if you're not old enough to think of those implications (according to ), why are you reading this?! Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

God created the flirt as soon as he made the fool

**Victor Hugo**

She learned to say things with her eyes

that others waste time putting into words

**Corey Ford**

* * *

He supposed it was a matter of proximity.

It had been a while since he had the privilege to _touch _another person, let alone find himself in that sexual position with a girl. He knew he was in this extraordinary quest for impossible things, but his body was an impossible thing to control as well. He couldn't control the dreams he found himself dreaming, nor the surprises that came up, literally, in his lap on cold, winter mornings. He certainly couldn't control the sudden thoughts he'd been thinking about his best friend, but he tried to ignore them, for the sake of the journey, as well as her innocence.

"Innocence? What innocence? Any sign of that went out the window the day we..." found himself whispering, as he twirled a dead stick that resembled the broken halves of his wand, with his fingers, absolutely tired of the boredom that came along with the silence and feeling of confusion that seemed to be as common as the leaves that fell lifelessly onto their makeshift tent.

It had been a few days since The Incident, as Hermione officially named it. Harry was surprised that she would even name the event, knowing for sure she would have remembered to "forget" in order to move onto more important things, such as saving the world and keeping Harry alive long enough to luckily stumble upon a helpful clue.

"Are you still brooding over The Incident, Harry?" a slightly shrill voice called out, somewhere in the near distance. He looked over his shoulder and there she was, frumpy winter cap and all, the sudden object of his dreams' affection.

"You really had to name it, didn't you?" Harry said, a bit amazed that she could act so normally under such abnormal conditions. Here he was, albeit on the borderline between reflective and obsessive on something that happened days ago. Perhaps it really was proximity that made him so hot and bothered.

"Well, as significant as it is, it being my loss of this so-called "virginity," I thought it proper to name it. I can barely remember how many days ago it was, and that's horrible, right? I'm a girl. I'm supposed to remember these things. Mum used to talk to me about them, these _milestones of womanhood_, she called it." Hermione didn't ask for permission, but naturally shoved her way into a seat on the rock that Harry was sitting on.

"_Milestones of womanhood_? Are you serious? That sounds awful," he said, with a ghost of a wince playing on his face. "I can't believe your Mum talked to you about that stuff. I had to learn everything through locker room talk and the older Weasley sons. Imagine the humiliation that I had to go through, just to listen to what I _needed_ to know about pleasuring a girl, as Fred liked to phrase it."

Hermione made a face, and Harry knew he had said too much. He looked away awkwardly, and decided to keep his mouth shut, unless he let even more embarrassing tidbits of his pathetic life spill. If anything ever indicated that Hermione was a good friend of his, it had to be this: he was discussing the issue of sex with her, a girl, and didn't feel like he was going to keel over and die in shame, which led to the question of exactly how this topic came up.

"The way I see it, we're teenagers. And as corny as it may sound, the professors are right. We've got raging hormones, and huge imaginations, and a desire to explore."

Harry nodded, not wanting to elaborate on his opinions about what raging hormones, huge imaginations, and desires to explore usually led up to.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, suddenly letting her gloved hand cover his numb fingers (he had forgotten where he put his own gloves) in a loving gesture. He found himself a little bit closer to her, on the rock, than he originally thought. He liked to think his body was just clinging towards her warmer temperature, but he wasn't a complete idiot. He knew exactly what was going on.

"I think that whatever happened those few days ago ... was _not _an accident. And like you said, I do _not_ regret it. And ... I think that .. Well..." She looked away into the distance, looking at anything but him, because she couldn't muster up the courage to say the rest of the sentence.

"Well, I just thought that there's been enough regret floating around between us. And I think what we did was perfectly natural, perfectly normal. I'm glad you feel the same way about it. I had a great time. I hope you did too," Harry said, with a mischievous glint in his emerald green eyes, and in a surprisingly confident manner. He could steal singing eggs from dragons, escape death by a single hair on his head, and catch enough snitches in Quidditch matches to enter the major Quidditch leagues, but given the objective of being mature in a conversation about sex, with a girl, he would've chosen the three previous feats before even considering the fourth.

Hermione blushed, as Harry watched the ends of her lips curve in a similar mischievous way. She threw him off guard as she confessed, "Well... I don't mind it if... we ever find ourselves in that position again. I have to agree with you this time, Potter. I definitely had fun." Harry's eyes widened, as she stole a kiss on his lips and proceeded to run away, at a painfully slow pace, given the snow and her lacking athletic ability.

Having recovered from her confession, as well as her thievery, Harry stood up and chased after his girl friend. He was feeling nostalgic at the event, remembering similar days like these at Hogwarts, when all that mattered was the fresh powder that fell from the sky and the unsuspecting targets that were asking to be attacked with snowballs. He remembered the days where the flashing red hair, in sharp contrast to the white snow, would be somewhere nearby, and all he wanted to do was throw a snowball at this former flame of his, sending an implicit idea that "Hey, I'm just like the little boy at primary school, who used to pull your pig tails because I secretly liked you." In those days, a swivel of that head of red hair would produce Ginny's face, but in this moment, at this particular time, all he saw was Hermione.

Just Hermione.

* * *

They had stumbled upon a small field of green grass (something rare in the winter), and decided to take a rest from the quest, or at least Harry was. He was jogging around and doing pushups, trying to bring his cold fingers back to life. Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling grateful no one was around to witness her friend looking like he was imitating the way Viktor Krum hopped about near the Lake during the mornings of the Trials, sans obsessive fan girls and _fan boy_, if she recalled.

Harry was throwing his weight around, pretending to throw spells at invisible enemies. Hermione's wand still felt foreign to him, but he stopped crying over his broken wand ages ago. If he ever learned anything about this journey, it was that if something doesn't work, then tough luck, move on and adapt. Deciding to involve Hermione in his role playing, he marched over to where Hermione sat Indian-style, with her face in her hands. He poked at his friend with her wand, letting the wand manipulate a lock of her hair. He badgered her to join in his fun.

"C'mon Mione. Stop sulking. It's so unbecoming on you," joked Harry, who was one to talk about sulking. He even admitted to her once, that for a straight year, he felt sorry that he yelled practically everything that ever came out of his mouth. If Rita Skeeter was around to record his every word, she would have run out of ink and gotten tired of the constant capitalization, as Hermione smartly commented.

"Potter, where did you get this newfound, insane burst of energy, eh? It's near freezing and here you are, jumping around like a rabbit that went through Fred and George's experiments."

"Let's just say I'm feeling a bit vindictive. Someone stole something from me earlier today, and I'd like to punish her," he playfully said, knowing that his banter was sneaking its way into outright flirtation. He didn't feel ashamed at all, and that was why this strange new relationship with Hermione just felt right. There were no feelings or thoughts forcing him to act in a certain way, as with Cho and their horrible first and only date, or with Ginny and their awkward moments in the shadows of the Hogwarts castle. He didn't have to be anyone but Harry Potter, and that was what comforted and scared him at times. _Would he ever feel this way with anyone else? Or better yet, did he want to?_

Hermione took longer than necessary to respond, because she had everything to say about what she did, but nothing to say at the same. Sure, Harry looked particularly handsome, as he reminisced on the rock. Plus, it had been days since their last interaction. No one ever got hurt by taking advantage of objects in their surroundings, right? Objects or available people to enjoy confusing moments with?

Deciding to join him in the playful banter, she stood up and faced him (or rather strained her neck to face him, that tall bugger!). She leaned her head a bit to the right, and smirked, watching Harry's eyes light up with amusement at her decision to comply to his request. "Well, someone was just being too enticing for his own good, so I _had _to do something. It was only natural," she offered.

"Oh, so it's natural to go around _stealing_ things from people, eh? I never thought you a thief, Hermione, but then again how much do I really know about you? I've only known you since we were eleven years old. I mean, you really could've picked up some nasty skills in your first decade or so of life," Harry said, throwing up his hands in exaggeration.

Hermione's mouth formed an "O" as she listened to Harry's attempt at suave flirtation. He was good, but she was better.

"I don't know, Harry. It might be you. You were always such a bad influence on little ol' me. You had me sneaking out late at night, when I should've been asleep in my bed, like the other girls in Gryffindor. I lied to people, prepared potions, and even had to throw some spells at my own friends. I don't know. People say I'm the brightest witch of our age, but my guess is that _you_ made me this way. What else have I known, with all your seven years or so of influence? You're lucky that was all I stole from you -- heaven forbid, I stole something else of importance -- like for example, your innocence!" she said.

"Hey! From what I remembered, and I remember _**absolutely everything**_ pertaining to that Incident, you were _willing_. Last time I checked, the definition of stealing implied that the victim was _unwilling_ of the theft. I think you enjoyed my thievery, just fine, don't you think? ... Oh, is little ol' Mione _blushing_? Or no, no, can't be. That would mean that you acknowledge that I am right, you are wrong, and you are a witch with naughty thoughts in that big brain of yours," Harry replied.

"Oy, you think you're so cute, don't you?" Hermione lamely responded, not wanting to accept defeat in this battle of words and feelings.

"Well, _someone_ thought I was 'just too enticing' earlier today, so that must mean I must be somewhat attractive to the opposite sex," Harry said, thinking that this banter was getting him frustrated in a different sense than the normal connotation of the word. He turned around, hoping he'd have time to regain his composure, before facing Hermione again.

"Ack!" was all he heard, as he felt a body shove itself onto his back, forcing both of them to fall to the ground. With his deft and agile Seeker skills, he quickly turned around mid-fall, grabbing Hermione by the waist, to make sure he would take the majority of the pain of the impact, once they hit the wet grass. And just like that, they found themselves in another compromising position.

"Merlin, Hermione. If you wanted some of me, all you needed to do was ask. But _no _you always make it so difficult. Here I am, partly winded, and there you are, looking as red as a tomato. Tsk, tsk."

"You forgot to mention the other part, Harry," she said, squirming slightly as Harry used his upper body strength to pull himself in a sitting position. It was a bit of a struggle, given that he had about a hundred and ten pounds of _girl_ in his lap.

"Oh, and ... will you stop squirming?... what is the other part?" Harry said, trying to fix his glasses, as they were nearly fell off in their tussle. He knew very well what Hermione was insinuating, but he was having a hard time already, willing himself to keep his hands to himself.

"I've got you exactly where I want you... and let's just say you're very happy to see me, because that's definitely not my wand in your pocket." Hermione presented her wand, in her hand, and smirked at Harry, who never guessed that this friend of his was such a plotter.

"You're a tease, Hermione Granger. An awful, thieving, tease," Harry said, deciding that this moment was bound to happen. He let one of his hands slowly drag itself up his friend's neck, taking its place in the wild tangles of her curly yet soft hair. He stared at Hermione, waiting for her to be entranced as he was by their gaze, before swooping in for the kill, or rather, the kiss. Hermione's eyes widened, and any retort that could have possibly come out of her mouth was drowned by the sudden onslaught of Harry's lips.

Harry let himself fall completely into the kiss, closing his eyes and putting a little bit of attitude into it, so Hermione decided to just play along. She kept her eyes open, as she responded to every demand he made of her, moaning and biting his lips just to keep up with his energy. For a second, she saw his eyes glance at her own, sending a message of extreme desire. From then on, she realized she had no right to be analyzing the kiss, and decided to just dive heart-first into this thing she could not comprehend, this particular moment in time that did not need a reason to happen.

Hands wandered, finding buttons and layers of clothing that immediately fell away, and skin touched skin. Lips left kisses down necks, placing soft touches on collarbones and shoulders, and body parts dangerously lower. Backs arched, fingers grazed hips, and moans escaped as inhibitions flew and dispersed, like dust in the wind. Hips connected, breaths were taken away, and thrusting was involved, but never ever did the connection between brown and emerald green eyes ever break -- as solid as the ground that carried their weight, as unrelenting as the wind that started to pick up, and as moving as the vision of her honey brown hair flowing wildly with the wind against the crayon blue sky, as they moved in unison in the ancient art of intimacy.

* * *

Another pair of eyes watched in the distance, wondering what exactly was going on, because his eyes must have been tricking him. There was no way what he was seeing was real -- just like a mirage in a desert, the conditions of his weary body, mind, and soul were playing tricks on him too. If his eyes were operating right, then his mind was registering a young man and a young woman _getting to know one another_ in a grass field in the middle of nowhere. And if he really was in his right state of mind, that young man was Harry Potter and that young woman was Hermione Granger.

But no, he must have really been seeing things. Because Harry Potter and Hermione Granger did not do what those two were doing, in that grass field in the middle of nowhere.

He would know -- he was Ron Weasley, and though he was not known to be completely observant of his surroundings, _this _definitely wasn't real.

But if _this_ was not real, why did he feel like his heart was being squeezed by a hand of a giant? Surely, it wasn't heart burn or indigestion, or any other feeling he felt before, similar to to this sudden pain in his chest. Why did he suddenly feel the need to cry? The last time he cried was when one of his brothers accidentally punched him in the nose, but this was worst than that -- a terrible pain in his chest, tears running down his face, and a sudden desire to kill anything sunny and cheerful within a one-mile radius of his location among the trees?

He didn't hate his friends, but in this moment, he certainly did not like them. And he couldn't decide which friend he hated the most -- the one who he thought would never betray him, especially since they had a romantic history, or the one he never suspected she'd betray him with, the only wizard he knew that felt more like a brother to him than his actual brothers by blood.

He would never forgive them for this, no matter how much he missed them both.

Not this time.


	9. Part IX

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **I owe thousands of dollars in student loan fees, my itty bitty black MacBook, and pretty much the clothes in my closet. Do you honestly think I own the Harry Potter series? Only borrowing it, for a little bit.

**Author's Note: **

Sorry, I've been gone for a while, but fear not faithful readers, I have not abandoned you! ) I was finishing out my last quarter of my freshman year at UC Davis, so sadly, Chemistry and Calculus flooded my life, leaving no time for fun. I finished my last final for Chemistry early this tomorrow, and I just checked my grade (yes, the teacher assistants are super fast at grading) and I passed. I'm relieved. Now, it's Harry Potter time. Oh yeah, Harry Potter time!

The words bolded come straight from the book, so they are the work of JKR herself. I could not describe the scene as perfectly as she could.

Oh, and I decided to use a stanza from one of my most favorite poems, by W. H. Auden. I know that the poem itself is about a lover mourning a lost love, but the last stanza is just plain amazing. Four lines that inspired an entire chapter. These little things motivate me to keep on truckin'. And all you readers, of course.

Oh, and for the first time ever, one of my stories hit the 100 review mark! Thank you, beautiful people.

* * *

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

**W.H. Auden, **_Stop all the clocks.._

* * *

**Part IX**

Harry jerked upright, mentally slapping himself for falling asleep. The night wind, combined with the snow, hit him in the face, and he swore it was like swimming in the depths of the lake by Hogwarts. He ripped his frozen gloved hands away from his jumper and swore, feeling the pinpricks and subtle pain that numbness and sudden movement always produced. In his failed attempts of staying awake while guarding the tent, he managed to dream, or rather, to "nightmare." He kept dreaming of Nagini, slithering through circular shaped oddities. He did not need Hermione's advice to know that it was somehow related to Lord Voldemort and the DeathEaters. It was great that those strange, abstract dreams of metaphors finally subsided, but he honestly preferred dreaming of Hermione.

Sighing, he stood up and walked over to said dream girl, who was currently huddled over her _A History of Magic_ textbook, with such an intent glare that she could have burned a hole in her most precious possession, aside from her orange fur ball of a feline and her dangerously powerful brain.

"I can't stand this weather. I think it's time that we move on. I've been staring at snow for the last few hours, and I'm starting to think I'm going crazy. I keep hearing voices, and they're so near the tent that I don't think we should risk it," he said calmly, taking off his frosted glasses and cleaning them. Hermione looked up from her book for a second, nodded, and continued reading. Feeling a bit dejected from her lack of response, Harry decided to do something that always seemed to catch her attention -- he took off his jumper.

"I've been hearing voices too. Let's move on to somewhere less... unbearable," replied Hermione, who slammed her book shut and proceeded to gather their resources. Pouting, Harry decided to be useful and helped her.

A half hour later, everything was conveniently packed and they stood next to each other, preparing to Disapparate under the Invisibility Cloak. Before Hermione disclosed their next camping spot, called the Forest of Dean, she turned to Harry, smiled, and whispered in his ear, "You're such an attention-whore, Mr. Potter, but I like it."

Harry was still smirking when they landed in their next destination.

* * *

Two nearly sleepless nights later, he found himself in the same position. His head dropped to his chest and he was in process of nodding off to the land of snakes and robed madmen, but a sudden light appeared out of nowhere, illuminating the dark trees of the forest. With his senses on full alert, Harry gripped the borrowed wand in his hand and prepared to fight whatever it was that was coming nearer and nearer. Was it possibly the light at the end of a wizard's wand? Or perhaps he was just dreaming one of those metaphorical nightmares again? Well, it didn't matter which, because the bright object was coming closer,

His heart palpitating, Harry analyzed the possible enemy. Whatever _it_ was, it moved soundlessly, as if it was just floating about -- was it a ghost? _No, what a stupid idea. Ghosts don't give off that much light. _Harry wondered if he should wake Hermione, but they hadn't slept at all in the past nights, and from the last time he went into the tent, her loud snoring signaled a severely exhausted girl who need not be woken up for monsters in the night, especially when it could possibly be just a lantern, a very bright lantern.

**He jumped to his feet, his voice frozen in his throat, and raised Hermione's wand. He screwed up his eyes as the light became blinding, the trees in front of it pitch black in silhouette, and still the thing came closer.**

Then the thing emerged from the forest, and it was a ... _silver doe_? It was a majestic creature, with hooves that left no prints on the snow, with wide, long lashes, and a head held high, with a stare so intent and familiar that Harry's desire to call for Hermione died, as well as with his fear that it was an enemy approaching.

He stared at the doe, feeling like this was meant to be, that she was coming here just for him, and that he was meant to be here, to see her. Sure, it seemed illogical that what he was waiting for all along was some bright female reindeer, and not Ginny or Ron, or something of more obvious reasons.

The doe, bored by his staring, turned and walked away. He exclaimed a word of negation, and felt the urge to follow the creature through the forest. Being the unconditional hero, with flaws such as immense curiosity and the tendency to find trouble, he decided to go with his urge, and left the tent and Hermione. He left dirty, muddy footprints in the snow as he slowly followed her.

_She's going to stop when I'm falling behind. I believe she's not of Dark Magic. How can something so bright possibly be manufactured by someone of the Dark Lord's ranks? Besides, once she feels its right, she'll stop walking and she'll talk, and maybe this adventure of ours will finally take at turn for the best. She'll tell me something very important, and then..._

The silver doe of light stopped and turned her head, and Harry knew that this was the time to stop lagging behind. He ran towards her, as fast as the terrain allowed him, but once he caught up to him, she vanished.

His mind screamed _TRAP! You've fallen for another TRAP!_

He said the practical Lumos spell, and waited for the ambush.

"I can't believe I fucking followed a reindeer into the depths of the forest. Honestly? They were right when they said I wasn't such a smart wizard. Merlin's balls, what have I done!"

He twisted round and round, ready to defend himself from the Dark Lord's minions. The image of the doe had burned into his vision, and with each blink, she vanished again. He waited for the sound of a cloak falling on the leaves of the forest ground, wondering if this would be the sad, pathetic end of such a long journey.

_Here lies Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived until he followed a bright doe into the forest, believing it was as harmless as Bambi and its friends, but was embarrassed to find it was the work of the Dark Lord and his minions, who came out of their hiding spots in the trees and AK'd his curious ass to oblivion. He'd run from a hairbrush, but he didn't run from this attack. _

"That would definitely make for an eye-catching tombstone," he muttered. "Hermione would have my head for even thinking something like that..."

_HERMIONE!_

This was possibly just a scheme to separate them, to make it easier to capture both of them. How could he not realize this any sooner? Perhaps, it was not him that they were after, but Hermione instead!

He made a move to run towards the tent, wherever it could be, when something in waters of the forest pool that the doe had led him to, caught his eye. Its familiar glint forced him to take a closer look and when he realized what it was, he swore it nearly made his night. Sitting out in the cold, then being tricked by a doe was possibly all worth it, if that thing in the water was what he thought it was -- _the Sword of Gryffindor_!

When a simple Accio spell wouldn't pull it out of the bottom of that cold pool, he knew that he would have to traverse that blood-freezing water to get to it. The cold alone could possibly kill, but what would a Gryffindor? Stupid, courageous, and risky business.

He took off the majority of his clothing, and placed Hermione's wand at the edge of the water. He dipped a toe in the water, and nearly screamed at the temperature. Feeling foolish, he jumped into the water, thinking he'd acclimate once he was _in _the water.

**Every pore of his body screamed in protest: The very air in his lungs seemed to freeze solid as he was submerged to his shoulders in the frozen water. He could hardly breathe, trembling so violently the water lapped over the edges of the pool, he felt for the blade with his numb feet. **

He dove, and felt his fingers grasp the sword's hilt. He was about to pull it up and jump out of the cold pool, but he suddenly felt his air passages constrict -- weeds were choking him! In reality, the chain of the Horcrux was making him lose his breath. Fearing unconsciousness, he let go of the sword and thrashed towards the water's surface. He pulled at the chain, but it felt as heavy as Goyle looked, and slowly, he sank to the bottom of the pool.

His vision blurred, he could make out the small light of the wand on the edge of the pool. It seemed so close, yet so far...

* * *

He nearly stopped fighting, when something pulled it out of the water, and placed him face down into the snow. He gasped, breathing rapidly, wondering who could be roaming around a forest at night. Despite being his savior, he could possibly still be an enemy.

Or maybe it was Hermione? But she didn't cough like a man.

Having caught his breath, he reached for the Horcrux, but he felt _nothing_ around his neck.

"Why the hell would you dive in there, without taking this off first?!" shouted a very familiar voice.

_RON!_

Harry stood up, and stared in awe at his best friend. He wanted to slap himself, to make sure that he wasn't dead and imagining things. Mostly, he wanted to poke what looked like Ron, to make sure he was real.

"I don't know," said Harry, who was so relieved to see the friend who had been gone for such a long time. "Was it you, who sent that Patronus of the doe?"

"No," Ron replied, who was in the process of taking off some of his drenched clothing. He had jumped in the water fully clothed.

"Well, whoever sent it, meant for either one of us to find it. I'm assuming they want us to destroy the Horcrux with the Sword." Harry picked up the wand from the water's edge, and gave the Sword to Ron. "Here, you do it. You got it, instead of me."

Ron shook his head, and told him it was meant for him, but Harry protested. Not wanting to fight over who'd destroy the evil thing, because they both wanted it dead, Ron gave in.

To open the locket, Harry used his Parseltongue, knowing that it would be the only way to open the Horcrux. Many nights of staring at it and thinking about its importance led him to this belief, as well as Hermione's frequent suggestions.

"Okay, just stab it okay? And don't miss, that's my hand holding it against the rock" instructed Harry, who held Hermione's wand in his hand as he waited for Ron. With a nervous grip, Ron held the sword above his head and was ready to kill the object that had driven him away from his best friends, when the voice held within it challenged him.

"_**I have seen your heart, and it is mine."**_

"Ron, don't listen to it! It's lying, whatever it's telling you. Please don't listen to it! Just stab it!"

"_**I have seen your dreams, Ron Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible."**_

"Ron, do it!"

_**"Least loved always, by the mother who craved a daughter... Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend... Second best, always eternally, overshadowed..."**_

Ron shivered, and goose bumps appeared on his pale arms. He thought he could just stab it and be done with it, but its words hit him right in the heart.

_...The girl who prefers your friend..._

He remembered watching them from the trees, how they were tangled up in each other, betraying him without knowing it. How she smiled at him, with that smile that was reserved for him, and him alone. How she hugged him so comfortably, when her hugs for him were always so sparse and stiff. How she looked at Harry's eyes in their intimate position, in the way that she captured his eyes when they were back at Hogwarts.

Did he really want to destroy the thing that told the truth, or the boy who refused to tell the truth?

"Ron, STAB IT! NOW!"

Ron stared at his friend, whose back was turned to him as he held the locket down against the rock.

_It would be so easy to stab him, to hurt him for taking away everything I had, and always wanted. He's not even looking._

_Harry Potter took away everything._

_He took my mother's love._

_He took my entire family's love._

_He took my friends, made them adore him while they just saw me as a sidekick._

_He took my girlfriend, the only girl he knew that I cared for; the only girl who I was sure would never betray me, especially with him!_

_He took my glory, with every feat that he accomplished. What did I do that was so courageous? Play chess? My bill of accomplishments pale in comparison to his. He is love by the entire wizarding community. I, on the other hand, am loved only by my mother, and she already loves him more than me, her own blood son, and not simply an orphaned son of a family friend._

Harry knew that Ron was fighting an inner struggle, because that was what the locket did. It deceived people into confronting their darkest fears, and he could see the hurt in Ron's face. Tears and fears, as well as angry, clouded Ron's eyes. He had dropped his arms, and stared at the locket.

When it couldn't possibly get worse, the locket produced two figures -- one of Harry and the other of Hermione. They ridiculed Ron, with words that made him feel like he had stabbed himself with the Sword.

_**"Your mother confessed that she would have preferred me as a son, would be glad to exchange..." **_sneered the evil Harry, grabbing the evil Hermione by the waist, and kissing her with an intent that made Ron want to kick the real Harry in the balls.

Evil Hermione pulled away from the kiss, and glared at him, with a smirk on her face reminiscent of a ferret they all knew. _**"Who couldn't prefer him, what women would take you, you are nothing, nothing to him**_," she said softly, with a malice that was unbecoming and unreal. The real Hermione would never speak to him in such a tone. That tone was meant for ignorant people and Slytherins.

The figures swirled around each other, in a lewd manner, and smirked at him at every opportunity. They continued crooning and cutting at Ron's heart. Eventually, evil Harry had evil Hermione in a compromising position, and Ron's mind brought back the images of the real Harry and Hermione doing the real thing.

He remembered how he punched the trees in anger, nearly breaking his hand in the process. He remembered how he said he'd never speak to them again, never forgive either on them. He remembered how he said he'd make them pay for hurting him.

"Ron, please do it! Don't let the words get to your head! They're all lies!"

"I know, Harry," said Ron softly. He raised the sword above his head. Harry turned towards the Horcrux, waiting for the blow that would end all of their misery.

Ron stared at his friend's back, and trembled in anticipation, nearly dropping the Sword in his nervousness.

_It would be so easy..._

... _to kill Harry Potter._


	10. Part X

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **I'm borrowing the characters and the general plot line. 'Nuff said.

**Author's Note: **

We all know how the story ends, but in fanfiction domain, whatever happens in between is a free-for-all, right? Yeah well, I'm pretty sure I'm toeing the line of copyright infringement, so I'm walking cautiously on eggs from now on. D

Okay, now that the boring technical stuff is over with, I want to get to the meat of the message. I don't really know if anyone even reads my notes, but if you do, thank you. I want to thank you also for being so responsive to my story, after such a **long, long** time. I may have lost readers in the past few months, but hopefully I gain them back, and then some.

Because two teenagers camping together for months do more than angst and go about daily business such as eating, breathing, and bathing. And when one frumpy redheaded monster decides to trample on said duo's camping parade, all hell, and my imagination, breaks loose. Thanks for seeing the truth of this whole shenanigan.

The quote I used for this chapter is just a quote. **I am not invoking my political convictions at all**. It just pretty much sums up the idea of everything you are about to read. So put down the presidential rally gear, and just read! :D

And lastly, I want to make an important announcement. As many of you may have observed, my last chapter had some obvious spelling errors that I failed to catch. I may need a second opinion before I upload these things online -- in plain speak, I may need a beta. If you are interested, please message me privately.

* * *

You show what you're willing to fight for, when you fight your friends.

**Hillary Clinton**

* * *

**Part X**

Hatred consumed Ron, seeping into his skin, rushing into his blood, and ruining every good feeling and memory that he had ever felt. As he stared at the boy who had taken the spotlight off of him, in his own damn life, he nearly forgot everything they had gone through.

Nearly.

Though it was not his life to lose, his memories flashed before him, and not surprisingly, they revolved around Harry Potter.

_Meeting the famous Harry Potter in the train compartment, befriending him, defending him from that git Malfoy._

_Beating the troll, being thrown about the girl's bathroom, seeing the professors' dumbstruck facial expressions as they walked onto the scene. Cementing in stone the Golden Trio, the best of friends, before puberty, reality, and time had slapped them all in their faces._

_Confronting a former prisoner of Azkaban, nearly pissing his pants before realizing he did not know who his enemies and allies were._

_Being a part of Dumbledore's Army, learning spells as well as teaching them, alongside the natural-borne leader and hero of the times, always knowing he could never take command of his peers like his best friend could, but still wondering why it was always Harry Potter._

_Feeling the familiar sensation of pride, jealousy, and almost nausea as Harry's name was called for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Ignoring Harry, avoiding Hermione, and realizing he really did need them, because outside of their circle, he had no true friends, only people he could tolerate but they could not tolerate him._

_Watching Harry disappear on his personal adventure with Professor Dumbledore, without trying to scream out, "Hey, faithful sidekick wants to go too!" for fear of getting what he wished. Seeing that grave and thinking, "It could've been me, had I tagged along," and crying because he knew he could never be a Harry Potter or a Albus Dumbledore, those revered names associated with wizards with real accomplishments and real awards. His name would always be in the fine print, where no one would read._

_Agreeing with Hermione to join Harry on his quest for what seemed like the unattainable, with the slight hope that this was his accomplishment, his real award to obtain. What a whimsical idea it seemed now._

_Complaining of hunger, dreaming of home and food his mum made, and storming off and getting lost. And then losing her, right before his eyes. And deciding to lose him. Hell hath no fury like a Weasley scorned. His hair may have resembled the hue of carrots, but his blood was eager to burn at the slightest irritation, and this betrayal was the ultimate sin._

_And of watching Harry Potter flail in the water, his heart pounding, and of fighting with himself over the idea of saving the companion that would save him later, in return, or of seeing the decease of their only hope in these dark times. Survival and love beat the anger, and he jumped in, but grabbing the Horcrux first and Harry next. _

_And seeing the figures manifest themselves from the evil part of Voldemort's soul, knowing that what they said was half-true, and possibly fully true. Clenching his fists over and over again, wanting to make the memories go away, of them kissing and fucking and loving each other, and anger won. Anger won after having trampled love with spiked heels and having sucker-punched survival until it was a bloody excuse of a reason._

And here he was now, with weapon ready and his senses on alert, and anger was telling him to seal the deal.

But the tears in his eyes, the ocean of remorse swelling in his unhinged heart, and the terror that hung over his head, taunting him and prodding him, distracted him.

"The inner struggle is never over, Harry," Ron managed to say quietly. "Not when you're around to encourage it."

Someone, who used to be of importance to him and still was somewhat, once said that he had the emotional range of a teaspoon, but sometimes Ron was Shakespeare with his words.

"But I have an idea to resolve this little predicament. I'm sure you'll understand."

* * *

_Ron is taking too long_, Harry thought as he felt the pinpricks of immobility take over his hands. He was still waiting for Ron to destroy the bloody thing so they could be done with it and walk back to camp, and to Hermione. There were more important matters to tend to, other than smashing a heirloom to pieces in an unforgiving forest.

He heard his companion in crime sniffle, wondering what could have taken over his mind. Ron never did have the best attention span, but surely he hadn't forgotten what they had sought out to do. And he surely was probably not having a fond flashback of all the happy times he had spent with the Horcrux.

A bird cawed in the great distance, making Harry turn his head, and that was when he saw the maddened look in Ron's eyes and witnessed the sword slowly swing down at him. With his Quidditch-trained reflexes, Harry dodged the stab and felt the metal graze his ear. With a statement of blunt amazement, Harry fell to the ground and wondered what power had possessed his friend's body. He walked like a crab on the snow, before picking himself up and sprinting as fast as the ground would allow him, a safe distance away from the redheaded mad man who nearly fulfilled the wish that the Dark Lord had been craving since he was a baby.

"What the hell, man!" Harry shouted, as he produced Hermione's wand and pointed it at Ron.

Ron ran straight at Harry, yielding the Sword of Gryffindor, and swung wildly, hoping he would land and injure the wizard who was the reason why his life was pathetic. Harry dodged every attempt, thanking Quidditch and every other experience he had had with people trying to take his life, and said, "Expelliarmus!" The Sword finally flew out of Ron's hands, near the rock where the Horcrux lay smiling in amusement with its fiery demeanor.

Harry thought the mad spell was finally over and proceeded to ask for an apology from Ron for such an outburst when he felt a meaty fist made contact with his jaw. He saw stars for longer than he liked, and threw his arms out, over his face as Ron proceeded to kick and punch Harry wherever he could. The defensive move had deafened the blows, but a particular swing at his kidneys made Harry howl in pain. He fell backwards into the snow and Ron dove right on top of him and continued his attack.

"You fucking little orphan, you! Taking my family, my girl, my life!" bellowed Ron, emphasizing the last few words of his statement with a complimentary blow to Harry's nose.

"What are going on about, Ron!" Harry reasoned, as he tried to switch his weight around so Ron would be thrown off. But the friend turned maniac was still as heavy as he was at Hogwarts, if not heavier, and this was not such an easy feat.

"I _saw_ you! I _saw_ you! I bloody _saw_ you!" Ron roared. He had miscalculated a swing and hit the hard snow, and felt a sting that distracted him from his onslaught. Harry, who realized the mistake, found a sliver of an opportunity of escape and shoved the wounded whale off his lap, reversing their positions.

To a innocent patron walking in the woods, he would've seen two boys in a squabble, returning blows. To a rather disturbing person, he might have assumed that two boys were discovering each other and presumed to watch like a hawk. However, the savior that saved Harry Potter from committing a murder was the same thing that led him to the scene of the continuing crime.

Harry was shaking Ron by the lapels of his jacket, screaming almost incomprehensible sentences, punctuated by the common "bloody", "damn", and "shit" bomb. He pounded Ron's head against the snow, watching it bounce back up and seeing Ron's eyes nearly roll to the back of his head in unconsciousness, when he was blinded by the light.

"What in the -- !"

The silvery doe had returned, and had stepped closer to the boys than it had previously. It looked down at them, and then slowly walked towards the Horcrux, rock, and sword. It dropped its head slowly and repeatedly at the thing that had set Ron on a rampage in the first place, signaling their sanity back, as well as the rising importance to take care of the major responsibility at hand.

Harry looked down at Ron, whose anger simmered and started to subside, and pulled himself up, to follow the doe. Ron sat up for a few moments, waiting for the birds and stars to go away, before he drew himself up and followed Harry, swaying a bit.

"So I'm guessing you didn't produce that Patronus," Harry muttered. Ron made a statement of negation and then stood by the very wizard he was pummeling only moments ago.

So maybe he didn't kill Harry Potter, but he greatly injured him, and perhaps that was all he wanted and needed: to release the frustration he felt about the scarred hero through a series of punches and blows. All Ron knew was that the incredible idea of killing Harry was finally gone from his mind, and all that remained was the question of what caused him to think in such a way. Was it the power of the evil in that locket?

The doe strayed farther away from the rock, as they came closer. Having decided to repeat the task, without Ron going bonkers-ready-for-the-asylum and Harry having to defend himself and perhaps kill his attacker in action, they had taken their rightful places, but Harry kept his eye on the person with the sword, or tried to, because the blows to his face had left him with broken glasses, bruised eyes, and bitter little cuts where the shards of the glass lens had ripped into his skin.

"I don't know what the fuck came over you, Ron, but if it happens again, I am going to kick your ass," Harry warned, pointing Hermione's wand at him, which had dropped from his hand when he first dodged Ron's attempt at murder but was back in the right hands.

Ron, realizing that a few bashes to the head had cleared him of his evil thoughts, nodded, with a bit of fear in his eyes, and prepared to stab the Horcrux. It pleaded for his mercy, trying to conjure up the evil puppets and made a desperate attempt to inject rage back into Ron's bloodstream, but this time around, Ron decided to do as he was told, because he had not the energy for a second round of wizard wrestling with Harry and he did not have a back up plan.

The doe pranced closer to them, and saw Ron Weasley swing the Sword, and this time at the right target. It saw Harry Potter pull his hands away from the rock, and heard the Horcrux shriek in pain as its dark contents slowly slipped away into the ether, and what remained was a damaged piece of heirloom. Then the silvery doe nodded again, and turned away from the boys, to disappear as majestically as it appeared, among the trees.

When the bright light that it brought disappeared, Ron and Harry were still left behind to fix the mess they had created. Ron loosely held the Sword in one hand, while Harry stared at the broken Horcrux. The Sword dangled in Ron's light grasp before it fell, and dropped into the snow, smearing the pure whiteness of the ground with a disgusting black liquid. Just as the diary had bled when Harry stabbed it, this Horcrux, too, bled. Or maybe it was Ron's blood, or Harry's blood?

Blood, much of which was irresponsibly shed in a matter of a few hours, reminded them that there were more important matters to attend to, such as to the safety of the girl who had come between their friendship, almost literally.

Ron sunk to his knees, and nearly collapsed, had it not been for Harry's reassuring hand on his shoulder. After taking in the gravity of what almost occurred, the dam had flooded open, and the guilt made him feel sick as if he had caught the wizard's version of the common cold. He tried to say an apology, but the words would not roll off his tongue. But Harry, realizing that the bout of madness had finally passed and that the long lost friend had finally come back to him, physically and mentally, squeezed his shoulder and proceeded to gather the items they had thrown around.

As he navigated their way back to the camp, thoughts had ravaged Harry's mind. His friend had attacked him, and nearly killed him. That was the power that the dark magic that Voldemort had injected into these random bits of his life, held, and he was, and not for the first time that day, terrified. If these objects had the power to turn allies into enemies in a blink of an eye, and without warning, what danger lay ahead of him and his friends, for the ones that remained mysteriously hidden in the unknown locations?

Honestly, after a few basic healing spells here and there, he did not want to continue that thought. He was exhausted, starving, and ready for the land of dreams and nightmares. Sure, Ron had finally come back, but after such a homecoming, he did not have the energy nor the interest to welcome him back with a warm hug or conversation.

Ron, on the other hand, still felt guilty for what he had almost done, or just for what he had already done. He had physically hurt his ex-best-friend (he wasn't sure on what terms they were both on, in terms of friendship as of the present moment), and also felt nervous, for he had lost control of his emotions back there in the depths of the forest, and feared what would happen the next time something ticked him off.

_It was horrible, the way that voice in that locket took over my thoughts_, he told himself. _Maybe this isn't the way it was supposed to go. Maybe I should get out of their way, for they should have made progress without me to make things sluggish._

The walk back to the tent had been silent, for all they could hear was their resonating thoughts, heavy breathing and the crunch of the snow beneath their feet, and then the frequent growl from Ron's stomach signaling that it was time to feed it or he'd go insane. Again.

* * *

Hermione had woken up, with no Harry by her side. Remembering that he was on guard duty, she gathered up her blankets and walked towards the entrance, hoping to bother him with her warmth. However, when she saw that he was no longer sitting on the chair that he should have been sitting at, and the feelings of paranoia and fear instantly rose, and she felt the warning alarms in her head ring.

She saw the pattern of a single pair of footsteps in the snow, and observed that it led into the near forest. She rushed into the tent, put on layers of warmer clothing, and then stepped out to find the missing piece to the puzzle.

She had barely stepped away from the tent when she saw the two figures approaching from the trees.

_Two_? Her mind registered the scene and she felt her knees lock. They were not enemies, because she saw the glint of light coming from Harry's glasses, and she also took note of the familiar way the second person waddled in the snow.

The invisible creatures that Luna Lovegood had constantly blabbered about had tied anchors at her ankles, and she could not move from her spot. She wanted to scream, to laugh, to cry, to do anything, but her body had decided to stop functioning at that moment.

It was the moment in her dreams when the hypothetical camera lens would take a close of up of her amazed face, of the tears dropping like soldiers during a battle, turning into instant icicles almost, and then quickly zoom out and back towards the two men walking slowly towards her. It would first focus on Harry, and then Ron, and then pan out so that they appeared as if they were approaching closer and closer, and then the colorful music would finally start ringing out of nowhere, and then her dream self would find the strength to move her limbs, and she would run to both wizards and hug the living daylight out of them.

But in reality, she did not have the strength.

And she was not ready.

Instead, she was sniffling and she wiped away the snot, and tried to clear her face of the leakage of tears that did not threaten but acted upon their desire to fall. Relief and something else tugged her heartstrings in all different directions and she felt those knees of hers finally completely fail, and she dropped to the ground, and the cold slipped past her clothing and towards her skin and beneath her skin, and into her being.

She managed to clasp her hands before her face, in an awkward prayer-like stance, as she continued to bawl as if she just was given the news that her furry orange monster of a cat had been caught in a Filch-caused accident and did not make it.

If she was dreaming, the triumphant final note of that sweeping award-winning composition would play as Harry and Ron stood before her, and almost silently fade away, revealing the moment of truth that would usher in the happy ending and then the credits would roll, or rather the scene would fade to black and she would wake up, disappointed that it was over. Her dreams were rather obsessive-compulsive when it came to details.

But this was reality, and in the real world, there is no soundtrack, nor is there a blackout to the happy ending.

Harry and Ron stood before her, and both simultaneously offered her a hand. They looked at each other, at their outstretched limbs, and waited for her response. She dropped her hands, feeling them loosen some snow on the ground in the process of falling, and looked up at the two most important men in her life, aside from her father.

She stared at their offers of aid and realized that there was no happy ending at this particular moment, and that they were far from it. This was only the beginning of a long and tough journey, one aside from the Horcrux and the Dark Lord, but of another, a personal and traumatizing one that would underhandedly somehow shape their futures, and decide whether Harry Potter would have the support he needed to lift the burden of the whole world on his shoulders or if it would roll out of his control and he would be crushed by its expectations, and everything would then really fade to black.

She dropped her head, her chin touching her chest, and closed her eyes. She slowly returned her gaze to the outstretched hands and realized it was time to pick.

_Everything worth saving lay in the balance of whose hand to take._

_Had distance made her heart grow fonder, or had Ron disappeared as a mere mysterious memory as Harry replaced him?_

_Was there even any argument?_

_Was it Harry, the only one that understood her and **knew** her in ways that no other man had?_

_Or perhaps Ron, the only one she thought would know her in that way, though he had been absent for far too long? _

**_Who would it be?_**

Having made up her mind, she raised her hands and reached for what she wanted.

* * *

**Author's Note II**: Oh, a teaser for next chapter? Oh, goody!

_Having made up her mind, she raised her hands and reached for what she wanted ..._

A third hand had added itself to the offer, and a turn of her head made her realize that it was the every dreamy, ever tan, ever sexy Prince Caspian who was randomly jogging through the forest looking for trouble.

After seeing his fabulously sexy smile, she grasped the tannest hand, and then Prince Caspian pulled her up with his amazing strength, onto his white horse and they galloped away, leaving Harry and Ron with empty stomachs, scratched up faces, and in such misery that both decided to off themselves by drinking a soda that had been mixed with a Mentos, producing a poisonous death-causing concoction. Harry decided to emphasize his end by adding a little extra oomph, which came in the form of an extra ingredient -- those damn Pop Rocks. Because that damn Harry Potter always had to one-up Ron Weasley, always.

_**...**_

_**Okay, I'm kidding. But I honestly adore the actor who plays Prince Caspian. What a sexy voice, eh?**_

_**Sorry for such a drama-rama-filled chapter.**_

_**Lightheartedness is surely along the corner, maybe.**_


	11. Part XI

Between the Lines

**Tinsadisaster**

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **I own enough cash for half a tank of gas. And that's pretty it. General plotline and characters belong to JKR, who could probably pay for all of our gas tanks if she wanted.

**Author's Note:**

I have a newfound crush on James McAvoy, after watching _Penelope_. Though I still love Edward Cullen (the character, not the actor), Hugh Dancy, Harry/Daniel, and Tom/Draco... I just loved the way he kissed Christina Ricci in that last scene of the movie. That kiss inspired this chapter, which was half-written for the longest time. However, I found my muse and I turned the rest of this chapter out in about a couple hours. The lyrics I've used at the end are from Landon Pigg's song, "Can't Let Go." It's a lovely song, so go youtube the video. You'll love it. 8)

Thanks for the lovely reviews, as well as the additions to your favorites lists and alerts lists. Without you guys, I'm just another sad little wanna-be-online-author.

By the way, this chapter has some slight inappropriateness, so if you're too young to buy a lottery ticket in the United States (18 years, my dears), then I suggest you look elsewhere, or close your eyes or something. Insert coy smirk here ENJOY!

* * *

_Change is inevitable -- except from a vending machine._

**Robert C. Gallagher**

* * *

**Part XI**

Just as she was in the process of grabbing ahold of both of the wizards' hands, Hermione allowed herself a moment of clarity to think about the consequences of the simple task of making the choice between the freckled friend turned complicated boyfriend or the green-eyed friend turned lover.

If she took Ron's hand, then everything that had happened between she and Harry would mean absolutely nothing, which it obviously wasn't. If she took Harry's hand, then everything that happened between them would mean more to her than Ron, who had dominated her romantic life since she was about eleven years old. She hadn't fallen for Ron at first encounter, but he had proved himself to be charming and courageous over the past few years they had been "together" or so he assumed.

_I can't make this decision without anyone getting hurt_, she thought. Realizing she was too much of a coward to hurt her friends, she shook her head, telling them that it was okay, and pulled herself up by the sheer power of her own will.

Ron and Harry secretly sighed in relief, but both did not let the moment slip by without gathering their own opinions.

"So, what's happened since I've been gone?" Ron asked in a hopeful but fraud cheery tone. He had always been the comic relief in times of harsh drama, but once he was tangled in it, he lost the role.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, for the quickest second, and that was all Ron needed to know.

_Everything has changed_.

* * *

Hermione had grown accustomed to sharing the tent with only other person, so when she looked up from the book that Professor Dumbledore had given her, _The Tales of Beedle and Bard_, and saw two people shuffling about, she found herself doing a double-take.

For a while, when Ron had first abandoned them, she kept imagining him there, seeing him at the corner of her eye, and stupidly calling out his name, only to realize he was just a figment of her imagination. The silence that came after his name and the cold that penetrated her senses only added to the pain, but it was also a daily reminder that she had other problems to worry about.

Something happened between Harry and Ron in that hour or so when Harry disappeared into the forest, chasing after a supposed glowing animal and instead, finding the Sword and the redhead. She observed how the two wizards bumped into each other, muttering half-hearted apologies. She had seen this kind of behavior from them before, and if she guessed correctly, it was over something involving masculinity. Last time, it had been about Harry placing his name in the Tri-Wizard Tournament and attracting more fame and glory. They had never really fought over a girl before, but it was nerve-racking to think that the tension between two-thirds of the Golden Trio now was because of her, the bushy-haired, smart, calculated third member.

They decided to stay where they were for another day, in order to adjust to the new changes. They informed Ron of what had happened in between his departure and his arrival, but both left a few details out of the picture. As far as Ron was concerned, a small part of him knew it was those secrets that he was really after.

Secrets existed for a reason, but just like a hole in a safety boat at sea, no amount of tape or wishing would prevent the worst possible scenario from happening.

* * *

The bruises on Harry's face were fading now, appearing a sick yellow, but the tension between he and Ron was still there. He wanted to knock Ron out nine times out of ten for what he did. Having been pushed around for the majority of his life, he wouldn't stand taking such behavior from this wizard who was claimed to be his best friend.

When Ron had first starting throwing his fists, Harry's natural instincts kicked in. He blocked most of the attempts, but a few had connected, leaving him light-headed and bloody. When he threatened to kick Ron's ass, he meant it.

Ron had not apologized, and it irritated him. Though he was still somewhat happy to have another bloke around, he would not allow Ron to pretend like his absence was just a five minute break from the camping trip of their life. It was Ron's decision to leave and his unwise choice to lash out at him, but honestly, it was Harry's journey.

When Ron agreed to join him on his quest, he discreetly promised to stick by his side the whole way through. However, obviously, Ron had broken the silent, unwritten contract, and he had yet to pay the consequences.

Also, Harry missed having Hermione to himself. When he used to feel discomfort, she was always there to hug him and to assure him that what they were doing was right. But with Ron, the prodigal sort-of probably ex-boyfriend, around, he had to be careful not to spend too much time in private conversations with her, or being too close to her, for fear of stalking eyes and itchy fists.

He didn't want to have to fight Ron. Besides, with Ron's arrival came the new wand, which Hermione was currently analyzing, for him to use. Though Hermione's wand had been sufficient enough in its use, it was just not the right weight or material, and his magic was not as strong as it had been with the broken wand that lay buried in Hermione's magicked sack of goods. Also, Ron, who was struggling to get back on their good sides, was more than willing to guard the tent entrance while they got some much needed rest.

He had grown used to sleeping beside her at night, but it would've sent Ron into a rage if he even thought of doing that now. He laid in bed, missing the warmth and familiar shape of her body contoured against his, and of her hair and her face on his shoulder, with her breath tickling him.

If he couldn't have her in this world, then hopefully he would have her in the land of dreams and nightmares. At least Ron couldn't follow them there.

* * *

Harry knew he was dreaming the moment he saw the familiar grounds of Hogwarts. He and Hermione were sitting by the fountain, where he had fallen in love with and instantly gotten his heart crushed by Fleur and her beautiful schoolmates only a few years ago. They would have nothing to do with a shaggy haired, glasses-ridden, scarred little wizard.

"Harry! Hermione! Where are you?" Ron's voice strongly ringed against the stone pillars surrounding the courtyard. He was nowhere to be seen, but his voice seemed more closer than distant.

Hermione's eyes widened as she laughed, pulling him up and forcing him to jog as she dragged him towards the lake. She kept saying that they had to escape Ron, but she was smiling the whole time, so Harry knew this wasn't some sort of nightmare in which Ron was the big bad wolf who'd tear their happy reverie down.

After nearly stumbling down stone steps and muddy wet grass, they had finally arrived at their destination, a fallen tree which had not survived one of the winter storms. Its leaves provided a good enough secret hiding place so that if Ron came by, he would never find them.

He was half-sitting, half-standing against the trunk, and had his arms around Hermione, who leaned towards him. She looked up at him as he tightened his grip around her waist, with her sparkling eyes which displayed a bit of mischief and something else -- desire.

He wasted no time in capturing her lips in a kiss to rival the ones he remembered seeing on the dramas that Aunt Petunia liked to watch when Dudley wasn't hogging the television. He felt her smile in the middle of their kiss, and he knew that this was something different, something he had never felt with anyone else, even Ginny. When he was with Ginny, he was always a mess, with these _feelings_ that took over him, that made him want to throw up half the time. However, with Hermione, he was perfectly at ease. Though he should have been a little bit disturbed by their kiss, having been _just friends_ with Hermione since he met her, he was actually feeling the absolute opposite. He wanted to kiss her, and he would keep on doing so, until they needed to come up for air.

Her hands were roaming, finding the secret nooks and crannies of his body which were unbearably sensitive to her touch. She had already pulled off the jacket that he was wearing, leaving him in a simple, worn out navy tee that seemed to show off his athletic body. Since this was a dream, he was probably more attractive than he really was in real life. Some people flew in their dreams, but he was just less of a bumbling dork and more of a Casanova in his.

Sensing that Hermione was probably tired off being on her tippy toes, (she really was that short, he observed) he reversed their position and pulled her up onto the trunk. He laughed quietly at her yelp of surprise, but immediately found her lips again. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him dangerously close. He could feel her body against his, and it sent shocks of warmth southward. His left hand laid on the trunk while the other was in the mess of brown curls, making sure she felt his kiss.

"Take it off," she whispered, eyeing his shirt. Whilst quirking an eyebrow, Harry obeyed her demand, and closed his eyes as he felt her tiny, warm hands exploring him. Tiny ripples of pleasure went through him as her fingertips glided down his chest and abs, and reached the buckle of his belt. She kissed his shoulder as her hands undid the belt and pressed up against him, making his body go rigid for a split second.

He hissed, calling her a tease, but all she did was giggle lightly. This was another indication that this was just another dream -- the real Hermione never giggled, or at least in that typical girly way. He groaned when he felt her hands move away from him, but smirked when he saw that were busy pulling off her jacket, revealing a form-fitting yellow shirt that he immediately pulled over her head.

Just like time made no sense in his nightmares, it also did not make sense in his dreams. Only moments passed, and now they were both thoroughly undressed. He pulled her hips towards his lower body, and moaned loudly as he felt her surround him completely. He thrusted with no abandon, controlling the rhythm of their movements by the volume of her cries of pleasure. When her breath caught in her throat and her back arched, and her shoulders and hands were the only body parts touching the dead tree, he knew she was ready to fall apart in his hands.

Oh, how he loved watching her lose control, especially in his hands...

* * *

A hand shook his shoulder gently, and Harry woke from his delicious dream.

Hermione's blushing face was what he opened his eyes to, and he didn't mind that she interrupted his slumber.

"Shh. I suggest you stop making so much noise, Harry. You'll wake Ron." It was her shift to watch out for potential enemies.

"I'm sorry. I was having such a pleasant dream," he claimed boldly. Hermione quirked her head to the side, and challenged him, asking exactly what he had been subconsciously thinking. Having heard only the first few seconds of his description, she decided to join him under his sheets so he could whisper, assuring that Ron would continue sleeping like a log by their secret whispering.

"Oh, really? I asked that?" she mumbled, feeling her face heat up at the exaggerations Harry decided to put into his little dream monologue.

"Yes, and it was rather sexy, the way you tried to take control... but I always took it back," he said, smirking at the images in his head.

"Are you sure about that?" she whispered in his ear. Harry was going to reply, but he felt a hand that were not his own trail down his side, and then his thigh, to his aching member. Harry pulled his pillow over his face, and kept it there so it would muffle the sounds he made as Hermione, the real one, literally made his dream a reality, sort of.

Harry didn't know if this was just another dream, but Hermione's voice assured him that she was really there, that this was really happening, and that she would be the death of him.

* * *

It was a new day, and Ron was re-doubling his efforts to get a word out of Hermione, much less a moment of privacy in which he could proclaim his stupidity and win her trust and friendship back. He had yet to approach Harry, but he still felt the animosity between them would lead to another fight.

Ron realized his mistake in instigating the attack against Harry, but the locket taunted him with his worst fear, something beyond giant spiders and his mother's scolding. He was scared he was going to lose the last thing that was meant to be his -- the girl of his dreams -- to his best friend, who had taken everything else away from him, since the beginning of their friendship.

He was jealous of the the life that Harry led. Harry Potter was a destined hero, a significant figure in magical history. He was already written into the pages of the historical textbooks that the younger years were reading at Hogwarts. Where was Ron in this? Ron was in the subscript, the fine printing that stated the less significant characters.

Harry was a natural-born Quidditch star. Talent and skill was in his blood, given to him by the genes of his extraordinary parents. He held the most critical position in the game, while Ron was just another pawn. Ron used Quidditch as his outlet to prove to himself and everyone else that he was unique too. Remembering the taunting chants created by the Slytherins, he shuddered at the thought of his embarrassing mistakes.

Harry, as accident-prone and trouble-attracting as he was, also had no problem grabbing the affection of any witch he wanted. He had a crush on Cho Chang. Did he get her? Yes, eventually, with the death of Cedric Diggory though, but the main point he was pushing was that he got the girl in the end. And when he had the girl, he had the power to let her go, just like that. Ron thought many girls were attractive, which was obvious due to his little stint with that Gryffindor girl he used to make Hermione angry and jealous, but none of them were flocking to him, never had and never would. If he ever saw a stampede of girls heading his way, it usually was because Harry was by his side. They would push him out of the way because he was not what they wanted. And then there was that awkward year where Harry surprisingly turned his affections towards his younger sister, his only sister, and she fell for him instantly. Though the protective brother in him wanted to pummel Harry for having such thoughts about his sibling, the supporting friend in him allowed them to have their fun. When Ron had been home and Harry was still living with his insufferable relatives, he noticed how Ginny seemed on the edge at the sound of his name, and how she seemed more depressed when he wasn't around. He thought it had been just a school girl crush, but it had been years and she was still hung up on him, even through all the relationships she had rushed into and quickly dropped.

So Ron realized that he and Harry were on even ground on one topic -- their "best girl friend" Hermione Granger. She was the great equalizer between the hero and the sidekick, the black haired green-eyed superstar and the red-headed entourage. He remembered the year she was petrified, or more specifically the moment she had entered the Great Hall. She ran towards them, but she hugged Harry first. He saw the thousand-watt smile she had on her glowing face, and wondered if she would ever look at him that way. What did she do for him? She stopped, held out her hand, and shook his hand like he was a business partner. Truth be told, his little school boy heart was crushed. But she never talked of having feelings for Harry, so Ron decided to swoop in and take the only thing that Harry could never have.

Sure, Hermione would decapitate him for seeing her as some trophy to be won, but this was about his masculinity. If he won Hermione's heart, then he'd have something of his own, something not tainted by the universal favoring of Harry by everyone and everything in his life. In that little moment, he would be the winner, and that was all he wanted, or so he thought.

But when he saw them rolling around in the grass that one day, he felt his world fall apart. He thought that Harry had betrayed him, having known that he had feelings for the girl. These feelings had gradually evolved during the many years at Hogwarts, but Harry knew all along that she was the untouchable girl, because she was reserved for his mate, Ron. After watching them, he ran as far as his legs would take him and felt retched for the longest time. He walked around, homeless and blind in anger, until he saw the light that guided him to the doe, the forest, and his friends.

He thought he would never see them again. He felt incredibly lonely without their company, and realized that he was nothing without them. He was just another lost bloke, without their journey and their companionship. So when he confronted Harry again, he felt happy. He also felt a bit defeated, because that little evil voice inside his head was tempting to end everything for Harry. If he hadn't saved Harry, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. But since he saved Harry, he still wasn't able to live with himself. The little figures from the locket only added fuel to the fire that was hibernating inside him, and he lost control. People would probably label his fiery attitude towards his flame-like hair, but he didn't care. It felt good to hit Harry Potter, to make him feel the pain that he had felt for years. Though the feeling was fleeting, his fists were still itchy to continue that attack, no matter how sorry he felt.

But Ron decided he was focusing way too much on the wrong person. He was here for Hermione primarily, and he couldn't be distracted by his problems with Harry. He would agree with everything she said, would say the right things, would get on her good side, even if it took eternity. He was determined to make things work.

Ron just hoped Harry would not get in his way.

_Well, I can't let go_

_No, I can't let go of you_

_You're holding me back without even trying to._

_I can't let go,_

_I can't move on from the past,_

_Without lifting a finger, you're holding me back._

_And then we saw our paths diverge_

_And I guess I felt OK about it._

_Until you got with another man,_

_And then I couldn't understand_

_Why it bothered me so._

_How we didn't die, _

_we just ever had a chance to grow._

_Well, I can't let go_

_No, I can't let go of you_

_You're holding me back without even trying to._

_I can't let go,_

_I can't move on from the past,_

_Without lifting a finger, you're holding me back._


	12. Part XII

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **... This is getting old. No, I don't own this.

**Author's Note: **

Thank you for the reviews, _all_ of them. Thank you for reminding me that this is fanfiction, so I don't have to follow everything that JKR wrote. I think I forgot this...

* * *

**When I was a very small boy,**

**Very small boys talked to me.**

**Now that we've grown up together**

**They're afraid of what they see;**

**That's the price that we all pay,**

**Our valued destiny comes to nothing.**

**I can't tell you where we're going,**

**I guess there was just no way of knowing.**

_New Order -- True Faith_

* * *

**Part XII**

"Ron, will you please stop following me around like a lost puppy?" Hermione asked.

It was only eleven o'clock in the morning but he was already acting like her second shadow, dogging her footsteps at every change, agreeing with everything she said (even if the comment was not directed towards him) and asking if it was okay for him to do this or that for her. She thought it was annoying and demeaning, and wished he would stop acting this way. She wasn't stupid, by any means, so she saw right through his charade.

"I don't want to talk to you, or see you, right now. So please go bother Harry. I'm trying to work on something very important," she nearly screamed out loud at the freckled redhead. She gave him the death glare, the one that made the boys at Hogwarts want to run away to their mothers if they were unfortunate enough to deserve it. She was pleased when Ron pouted and stomped away, like a child who didn't get a cookie after dinner or a dog who put his tail between his legs in defeat.

She really wished he would stop trying so hard, because it was overwhelming. He was literally laying the compliments on thick, first commenting on how _different but in a good way_ she looked this morning, and then saying she really knew how to find the right kind of wood for the camp fire. He followed this by trying to clean her part of the tent, but he had the cleaning ability of a pig and Hermione didn't want Ron near any of her belongings. If he did not steal them for personal reasons she didn't want to know, he would misplace them or, Merlin help her, break them. In a situation like this, where going to the store happened about once in a blue moon and only at night or very early morning, she could not afford to _not_ have the limited amount of clothing and other products that she was currently lugging around.

So she pushed the annoying git off to Harry, who was currently staring off at the distance with furrowed eyebrows and the less-than-subtle eye twitch that he denied he had. This brooding stance only meant that Harry was thinking deeply about something very important.

_What could he possibly be thinking?_

The possibilities were endless. Hermione wondered what it was like to be in a situation such as his. The wizarding world's future lay in the balance of his actions, so he had little room to make mistakes. She could only imagine the pressure he must be feeling, as well as the disappointment in their progress so far on the great quest that Professor Dumbledore had sent them on. It seemed like every step that they took thus far was one mistake after another.

Hermione, who was suddenly filled with this determination to ignore social conflicts going on and to focus on doing what they had set out to do, became motivated to look over all the evidence they had collected in order to formulate ideas and theories that would get them to their next Horcrux. She had allowed her heart to take over all her decisions she made prior to this miniature epiphany of logic, but decided it was time for her brain to start taking control of the reins again.

If Hermione could do anything well, it was setting a goal, organizing its implementation, and accomplishing it with flying colors. No matter how difficult the obstacles, she and her friends would come out victorious.

_We have to. It's the only way we will be able to survive... to allow the others to survive._

Hermione tried to imagine a world in which they failed and the Dark Lord had succeeded. She shuddered, because she wouldn't exist in that world. Neither would Harry, a though that made her want to cry, but possibly Ron. Ron was the full-blooded wizard among the three, so he had a chance at survival, though his family was marked as a mudblood-loving group, which the Voldemort probably would not have tolerated. In the demented power-hungry tyrant's eyes, Ron was a betrayer of all things pure, but his saving grace was his blood, his pure blood. Loving mudbloods was a social decision, not a biological one.

If anything, Ron was capable of betraying _them_. In these times of war, it was every wizard for himself, friendships and alliances blasted aside. But the question was whether he had the bravado to do such a thing. Ron, the chess-playing, easily angered, bitter sidekick extraordinaire... betraying and killing Harry Potter? It was a laughable idea, but a dangerous one nonetheless.

What exactly was Ron doing as he followed them around? Did he walk into any deadly situations or meet any deal-breaking DeathEaters along the way?

A black bird flying in the air announced its presence with a distinct caw, sending chills down Hermione's spine. She was not a superstitious person, but that didn't make any difference. The omen was set, and it scared her just a little bit too much inside.

* * *

Ron was peeved, to say the least. He acted as perfectly as possible, but Hermione was having none of it. She was too busy handling issues for Harry, who looked absolutely ridiculous staring off into space like a lovesick, tormented Hogwarts boy. Though he knew that she wouldn't exactly be jumping for joy by his sudden re-appearance, he thought she would be just a little bit more excited than simply ignoring and rejecting him.

They had a couple years of _something_ between them, right? She was smitten with him at Hogwarts, though it took him about two years and some odd months to actually realize that she was not angry at him because he had the emotional capacity of silverware, but for his inability to act upon his affections after she was fed up waiting for him to open his eyes.

He had opened his eyes, but didn't want to accept that he woke up too late. Now she had apparently moved on, with the last person he wanted her to be "seeing."

But then there he went again, with that Harry and Hermione non-sense. The Horcrux's taunting had started this evil thinking, and nothing would stop it. His anger at Harry, as well as Hermione's insistent rejection, fueled the fire, but nothing would drench that flame that, over time, was overtaking his system. He was always one to jump to conclusions, he admitted that much, but the pieces were just forming in a certain way that the picture was something that he refused to comprehend.

This was exactly like the time that Hermione started dating Viktor Krum, whom she said was just a friend and nothing more. But it didn't seem that way when he observed the way the bulky Quidditch star twirled her around like a ragged doll on the dance floor at the Yule Ball. From that first weird glance that he saw Viktor take at Hermione, and then to his sudden appearance by her side when she was at the library, and then to the angry confession that someone had already asked her to the dance, and then to the painful sight of her, smiling so brightly and looking so beautiful, on his arm like she was the best trophy wife he had overlooked, and then finally her comment that she was having the best time ever at the dance... That was the first wake up call that he refused to answer.

Why did she always have to go for the Quidditch stars? First Krum, and now... Harry. This second wake up call was unexpected, to say the least, but it worked, because he was alert and on the ball and ready to finally take what was meant to be his -- Hermione's heart.

Besides, somewhere in that logical heart of hers, he was sure that she had an inkling of a feeling for him. Just like the game of chess, one little twist in his favor would garner him the win. He was just waiting for the moment to arrive.

He hoped it would come sooner than later, because his patience was wearing thin.

* * *

Harry tried not to watch Ron following Hermione around all morning, but it was inevitable. Ron was being an annoying little prick and Harry wished he could just make him see that, but Ron, who was as blind as a bat to subtle suggestions, would probably ignore him. Having been cooped up with Hermione for so long, he had learned some new, unpredictable things about her; these were things that Ron would never pick up on, even if Hermione told him.

First of all, it was no secret that she liked her privacy, but he never imagined she was so comfortable being alone for such an extended amount of time. There were days when they wouldn't even exchange a word with each other, and this never bothered her, as if she didn't need him to exist for her to go about her daily routine. He welcomed her distance, but like any other person, he craved human connection from time to time. If he asked, she would gladly give him that human connection, in more ways than one... and this solidified her existence as the one thing that Harry could not lose in his life.

Harry wanted someone who would give him space to think out the troubles of his life, and then would come out of the clearing at the right time. to take him back to humanity. Ginny used to do this for him... but it had been a while since she came up in his thoughts. This bothered him, but not as much as seeing Ron chase after Hermione.

Harry sighed.

That _something _that sparked between he and Hermione was festering into _everything_ that was on his mind. This was unsettling to him, because he felt sidetracked from the true purpose of this lovely little eternal camping trip. Dumbledore sent him out to find and destroy the Horcruxes in order to weaken Voldemort's power, so he could finally destroy him and then... live happily ever after?

What came after _the end_? What was his _happily ever after_?

His gut was telling him that perhaps his _happily ever after_ would not be everything he _really wanted_.

As he lifted his head and swiftly glanced towards Hermione's direction, he felt a wave of something along the lines of nausea hit him.

Ron was at Hermione's side, listening to her speaking excitedly, with a sparkle in her eye, about something involving the book she was pointing at animatedly. He bent down and hugged her shoulders, and whispered something in her ear. Ron looked up and away from Hermione's response, and met Harry's eyes.

Harry swore that Ron smirked. _What a smug bastard_.

* * *

"Harry! I've found something" yelled Hermione, as she shrugged off Ron's hands and ran towards him, clutching Dumbledore's book to her chest.

"What is it Hermione?" he asked, as he made room on his rock for her.

"Do you see this mark, Harry?" she asked, pointing at a triangular mark that looked familiar to him.

"That looks like something I've seen before..." he muttered, brushing her hair from his face. She was leaning in towards him so far that he could smell her shampoo. It was as much of a distraction as her closeness.

"Yes, you have, Harry. Just think back in your memory. Where did you see it?" she asked, smiling like she just had the newest, unreleased version of _Hogwarts, A History_ in her hands.

"For some reason, I keep imagining that I saw it on someone's body... but I don't know who, and where..." he guessed.

"Yes, yes, Harry! You've seen it many times before that, too!"

"I have?" he asked, throwing her a questionable expression.

"Hermione said Luna's dad was wearing it, during the wedding," a third voice intruded. Ron stood awkwardly before them, noting their physical position.

"Really? ... But so what? The Lovegoods aren't exactly normal people. A mark like that on their person doesn't seem out of place at all," Harry said.

"But Harry, you've got to remember... Viktor said that it was Grindelwald's mark. And guess who Grindelwald's best friend was? Dumbledore. This is a sign, Harry. We've got to follow this." When Hermione had an idea, there was no way he could stop her from changing her mind.

"I think that we should do what Hermione says," Ron added.

_"Oh really, Ron? Is there anything that Hermione suggests that you won't agree with?" _Harry said, surprising even himself with the venom in his tone.

"Look, mate. It's not like that you have any idea what to do either!"

"Well, at least I can form my own thoughts, Ron," Harry threw back.

"Boys!" Hermione's voice was shrill. She glared at both of them, feeling irritated by their behavior. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, breathing slowly and deeply.

They mumbled half-hearted sorry's and let Hermione take control of the conversation.

"Harry, this mark was on one of Dumbledore's letters to Grindelwald. And on the headstone, remember? ... I think we should pursue this," she said softly. She didn't want to bring up the graveyard, for fear that it would remind Harry of his parents' tombstones, but she had to, to convince him.

Harry sighed, asking, "Okay. Say we go on with your theory... who would we go to? Where is our next destination?"

"Well, the Lovegoods, naturally," Ron said tightly, crossing his lanky arms. He prided himself on his newfound perceptiveness.

"Do you even know where they live?," Harry responded, suppressing his desire to kick the haughtiness out of Ron's tone.

"Ron says that they live... somewhere... near the Burrow," Hermione said, a little hesitant.

"So you don't even know where this place is? I don't think this is a good idea..."

"I know where they live! They live in the hills near my house. I swear, Harry, you can be such a ..."

"Okay! So we've all decided that we're going to the Lovegoods, yes?" Hermione chimed in, hoping to interrupt the war of words that was going on between Harry and Ron.

Harry looked at Ron, and then Hermione. He was obviously outvoted and could do nothing to change it.

"Lead the way, Ron," Harry said, immaturely.

"I have a better sense of direction than you do, you git. You've been leading us in circles ever since the beginning..."

"_Boys!_ That is enough," Hermione said, taking the stance that she learned from Molly Weasley. Her hand was on her hip, her leg jutting outward, a finger stabbing in the air, and a malicious glint in her eyes. Harry and Ron, who were all too familiar with this, stopped their quarrel on the spot and dispersed, to gather their belongings. Because they knew Hermione was watching them, they kept their hands to themselves, though they wanted to shove each other around.

Hermione watched them silently, shaking her head.

"Boys will be boys," she whispered. She looked down at the book that she accidentally thrown onto the ground.

The mark on the page stared at her, and strangely, terror filled her senses.

_And she wished she knew why._


	13. Part XIII

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **Even if people stopped reading HP fanfiction for Twilight fanfiction, I'd still be writing this stuff, but that doesn't mean it would make it MINE any more or any less. Sigh. All hail JKR, the first Stephanie Meyers!

**Author's Note:**

I had about a third of this chapter done for a while, but I couldn't quite get myself to write the rest. But I couldn't sleep tonight, so I went along and finished the chapter. I hope you all enjoy it.

The story is still pretty much sticking to the real _Deathly Hallows_, but only for one purpose: to build up the future chapters. Everything changes sometime soon, so if you dearly love the canon, please don't complain that I've changed the story. I'm supposed to. In my world, Ron never ends up with Hermione. That, my dears, is called a nightmare.

Oh, please excuse any grammatical errors. I was too excited to read this over several times! )

Read, review, enjoy! Review! ) I love getting notifications in my email that you guys reviewed! Plus, they tend to make me feel very guilty if I've gone too long without a chapter update. So do it!

* * *

**Tonight will change our lives**

**It's so good to be by your side**

**But we'll cry**

**We won't give up the fight**

**We'll scream loud at the top of our lungs**

**And they'll think it's just cause we're young**

**And we'll feel so alive.**

**Throw it away**

**Forget yesterday**

**We'll make the great escape**

**We won't hear a word they say**

**They don't know us anyway**

**Watch it burn**

**Let it die**

**Cause we are finally free tonight.**

_Boys Like Girls -- The Great Escape_

* * *

**PART XIII**

Harry walked beside his friends, which was a rather shaky term to define both Ron and Hermione at this point, by the cover of his trusty Invisibility Cloak. They had apparated near the hills surrounding The Burrow, but did not actually visit the Weasley home. Harry suspected that Ron had a burning yearning to run home, but Hermione's determination to find Luna's father and get back on track got rid of any of his desires to abandon the group once again. The promise of his mother's cooking as well as the warmth of his own bed meant nothing if Ron had to step two feet away from Hermione.

"I really don't think we're going in the right direction," muttered Harry, who was slightly peeved that he was forced to walk in between them, like a blind child being led by his parents. In an attempt to be optimistic, he rationalized that in this position, he knew where Ron's hands were, as opposed to being stuck in the front or behind them and being helpless.

"I'm pretty sure that I would know these lands most out of the three of us, you know. It's not like I haven't lived here for my entire life or anything," Ron said sarcastically, tired of Harry's complaining. Without his glasses, Harry would have walked into trees. Who was he to determine if their route was correct?

"If you start seeing anything out of place or abnormal, then I'm sure we'll be going the right way," Hermione commented, noting the very tense atmosphere around them prior to the decision to visit the Lovegoods was finally giving way to less intensity and more playfulness. Harry and Ron were still at each other's throats, but their physical threats was becoming more of a war of words and wit, which she could tolerate. If they had the gall to start throwing fists in her presence, she would have put a body-binding curse on both of them and then beat them up for even thinking of physical violence.

"I saw an abnormally large garden gnome hopping in the berry bushes over there, but I think that's just one of those buggers that escaped our clutches," Ron chimed, unconsciously bringing back some of the humor that he once provided in serious situations. Harry had to chuckle. Ron was such a child sometimes. It brought back memories of long, hot summer days full of gnome-chasing and non-stop-Quidditch-orama. He had to admit; he missed those days.

"So let's say we find their house... what do we do from there?" Harry asked, knowing that Hermione would have a plan and Ron would agree with the plan without hesitation.

"Well, we'll ask him about the importance of the symbol that Professor Dumbledore left us, and then I guess he'll tell us what to do from then on. Or at least point us in the correct general direction. I'm not so sure," admitted Hermione, who chewed on her lip in anticipation of some unknown but very bad feeling sitting in the pit of her stomach.

Harry stared at her gesture, mesmerized by the singular movement, and nearly lost his focus, but Ron gladly led him back to reality when he elbowed him quite roughly in his kidney.

"Keep your eyes open, Harry. There are bad people out here, sort of like trackers," Ron said, sending him a warning about Hermione without saying a word.

"Trackers?"

"Yes, trackers. They're a shady group of wizards that harass everything they encounter, just in case it turns out to be a Muggleborn or something of interest to the Dark Lord or his minions," explained Ron. He told them of his experience with a few trackers, and it was enough to send chills down both Harry and Hermione's spines. Ron nearly escaped capture and his death sentence by lying, providing false names, and using the tool that Dumbledore had left him so he could quickly make an exit without fear of being followed.

"So these people... they trade their... hauls... for money?" Hermione wasn't feeling very comfortable with this topic. It only worsened the sickening feeling in her stomach.

"Yeah. Isn't that just sick?"

Harry had to agree with Ron on this. It reminded him of human slavery, or at least the many times in history in which groups of people were tricked into a slave trade by lowly scum who lived by other's sorrow. If a tracker did happen to come along, then their plans would be immediately cut short. But they had not seen anyone in sight for at least a couple of hours now, and if luck was on their side, it would stay that way. The only person they wanted to meet was Xenophilius Lovegood, the man who would provide information they absolutely needed to know.

Hermione couldn't explain why she felt like keeling over, due that weird gnawing at her stomach. It certainly was not butterflies, not if these little monarchs had razor sharp wings and vampire fangs. She wanted to throw up from this strange anticipation, but she kept it down.

After a few minutes of silent wandering, they stumbled upon the Lovegoods' lands' protective boundaries, signaling a private alarm within the strangely structured house that could only belong to Luna and her father. Surely, in their minds, it was a home, but to the three Gryffindors, it seemed very off-the-wall, abstract yet not, but still the perfect epitome of the Lovegoods' essence -- just plain strange.

They knocked on the door, both Ron and Hermione visible while Harry was still hiding beneath the Invisibility Cloak, and waited for someone to answer. Heavy shuffling of feet was followed by the annoying creak of a door whose hinges needed some oil stat, and finally the appearance of half a chubby face, with mystical blue eyes and white-blonde hair. It was Luna's father.

"Hello, sir, we're Luna's classmates," Ron started saying, wondering why the old man was being so suspicious. These were dark times, but did three teenagers, one invisible, really look that threatening?

"We're her friends, actually. We were wondering if we could talk to her?" Hermione quickly added. Harry couldn't say a word; he was invisible. Surely, hearing voices wouldn't sustain the miniscule bit of sanity that was floating around in the older Lovegood's head.

"Luna's out right now, searching for creatures at the lake," stuttered the terrified man.

"Oh well, okay. We'll wait, then," Ron said, rudely pushing the door and shoving past their host. Hermione made a face but followed, apologizing on her way through the threshold. She walked slowly so that Harry could maneuver past her. Hopefully the old man wouldn't notice the little passing of air as Harry glided by.

"Oh, okay. Let me go get you kids something hot to drink..." the elder Lovegood stated, shuffling quickly from the living room, or what seemed to be the living room. Ron looked around him, disgusted but interested at this new environment.

"I thought my room was a mess!" he commented, trying not to touch anything, but desperately wanting to investigate the weird objects that was the Lovegood's decor. A wooden machine in the middle of the room was churning out _Quibblers_ as they took in the pictures of Luna as a young girl, artifacts on the wall, and the general circular structure of the house. Ron was scratching his head, wondering how this all worked, but he accepted that the reason why was because only Lovegoods could live this way. He didn't want to admit it, but he inherited his father's curiosity about different cultures, different people's walks of life.

"I think we should tell him that Harry is here, too. He probably knows we're hiding something. Did you see how jittery he was when he opened the door?" Hermione suggested.

"I'm pretty sure that I'm the last person he wants in his home right now. The Death Eaters are probably going to apparate and AK us all," Harry said. Hermione threw an angry expression at him, while Ron agreed, talking about a wizarding radio station's warnings against such raids.

"Well, just take the cloak off. I can already see your shoes. Why do you have to be so tall?" Hermione demanded. Harry shrugged off the cloak just as Xenophilius walked into the room. The elder Lovegood almost dropped the cups of lavender goo that was levitating beside him.

"H-Harry Potter!" he exclaimed, clutching the breast pocket of his tattered robes.

"Yes, sir, I am Harry Potter. We're here to ask you for some help. We need some information, and it's really very important that we get it as soon as possible. I know I'm posing a threat, to you and Luna, just by being here, so please, may you cooperate?" pleaded Harry, taking a few steps toward the man.

After Xenophilius conjured up some chairs, they were all sitting, drinking the purple tea that looked like something from a marsh but didn't smell or taste as bad as it looked. Ron took seconds and thirds, because he was Ron, and his black hole of a stomach needed to be filled with some kind of nutrients.

"When you attended Bill and Fleur's wedding, sir, you wore a symbol around your neck. You got into an argument with Hermione's old friend Viktor Krum about it. Do you remember that?" Harry said, initiating the discussion.

"Yes, yes. I'm wearing it right now, as a matter of fact." The man pulled out the symbol from beneath his robe, and there it lay, against his green robes. Hermione studied the symbol, the cogs in her mind turning as it made connections with the evidence that she had been looking over for weeks.

"What is that, exactly?" Ron asked, finally satiated with tea.

"This? Doesn't Hogwarts teach the students about this sign? What a shame... This, my dears, is the sign of the Deathly Hallows."

"Deathly Hallows? Isn't that a children's story?" Ron offered, remembering the bedtime stories that his mum used to narrate to him so he would fall asleep. His heart clenched, and he was again reminded of how much he missed his mum, and the rest of his family. They were so close yet so far.

"It's more than a children's story!" Xenophilius exclaimed, hitting his thigh with his fist. "A lot of people believe in the Deathly Hallows, so we show our belief by flashing the symbol. However, that Krum fellow that assaulted me at the wedding had some silly notion that this symbol is associated with Dark Magic, calling it Grindelwald's Mark. I assure you, there is nothing Dark about the Hallows."

"Sir, I have a book that tells of a story that I think may be connected to the Death Hallows. It's called... _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_," Hermione mentioned, pulling out the book from her knapsack. The man's eyes widened, and he asked her to read the tale he said would answer their questions, "The Tale of the Three Brothers."

Hermione recited the tale, with minimal interruption from Harry and Ron. At the end of the passage, Xenophilius said, "There's your answer. Those are the Hallows."

"What do you mean that's the answer? The objects the brothers were given by Death, are the Hallows?" Harry inquired, wondering if the tale really was just a children's story and that they had made a mistake coming to Luna's father. He just had more questions, rather than answers.

"The Elder Wand, The Resurrection Stone, and The Cloak of Invisibility are the Hallows," claimed Xenophilius, who found a piece of scrap parchment and drew the symbol that he wore on his neck, which was also the very same symbol that Hermione found in her book.

"Do you honestly think these objects exist, sir?" she asked, her face full of disbelief.

"Of course I do. Why would they not exist?" the man fired back, realizing that he really was talking to Hermione Granger, the girl his daughter said was a bright witch but not so open-minded about things that did not come from textbooks.

"Well, they haven't been proven to _not _exist, so they do exist," he offered, knowing his circular reasoning was irritating her. His mind was elsewhere, his body anxious, knowing that the call he had made was soon going to be answered. He needed to keep the three teenagers within his sights before they came and collected them, and he would have his daughter back. Luna was not at the lake collecting creatures. He did not know where Luna was, and this was his only chance to save her.

He excused himself, saying that he would brew some more tea. He shuffled out of the room, leaving the trio to discuss what they had just learned.

* * *

"I think this is a pile of rubbish," Hermione said immediately.

"What if it isn't, Hermione? I mean, we have a Cloak of Invisibility right in this room. We've used it for years. It has withstand every spell that has been cast at it, and it has saved my life countless times, as well as yours. Plus, in the story, the brother gave it to his son. My father gave it to me, though the circumstances were a bit different," Harry hypothesized.

"That's true and you know it, Hermione. But what about the Resurrection Stone and the Elder Wand? Where do you suppose those are?" Ron commented. He looked at the crude drawing Luna's old man created. He couldn't believe the fate of his world could possibly lie in this little symbol. If their fate depended upon a line, a circle, and a triangle, then he'd just roll over and just let the Dark Lord AK him.

"What about the Sorcerer's Stone?" Harry guessed, remembering the incident in his first year at Hogwarts revolving that stone. He remembered the way he first encountered Voldemort, a face on the back of his professor's head. He shivered, knowing that his rival no longer needed a host, that his blood was used to reincarnate Voldemort's body, and that he was able to touch him, to kill him, to ruin everything for everyone he knew. He had to stop him; there was no other way. Dumbledore said both could not live, that one must die.

"But the stone supposedly makes a person immortal, not bring the dead back to life," Hermione said, knowing that Harry was thinking of his parents, Sirius, Cedric, and Dumbledore especially. If he got this Stone theory into his head, he might end up doing something that could jeopardize their whole journey, such as searching for the Stone instead of focusing on the Horcrux.

"But think of that Elder Wand! Can you just imagine? To know you're going to win the battle, every battle of your life?" Ron exclaimed, bewildered by the idea. For a guy who doesn't win much, it was a dream from heaven.

"Yeah, just keep your mouth shut about it, or else you'll get your throat slit in the night, and the thief is going to take it from your cold, dead hand," Harry added. The boys laughed, but Hermione didn't. She thought it wasn't funny at all, and noted that their host was taking longer than necessary for the tea.

Where was Luna's father?

"Guys, where's Xenophilius?" she asked.

"He's probably calling Luna from the lake," Ron added, jumping up from his seat. Harry copied him, stretching. Hermione tried not to look as his shirt rid high as his arms were in the air, but she had to look. The bottom of his abs showed, as did the deep V's of his hips. She could see the trail of hair that led into his jeans, and she had to look away before her mind took her elsewhere.

"I'm bored. Let's go exploring," Ron suggested, heading for the stairs. Harry said he'd go, so he followed Ron up the stairs, but not before throwing a wink over his shoulder, at Hermione. He knew she was watching him, but he wasn't bothered at all. Having Ron in the room as she stared his body was an exhilarating feeling. Hermione harrumphed, knowing she didn't want to be alone in the weird circular room, so she followed her boys up the stairs as well.

They stood dumbfounded, staring at the ceiling, and she wondered why, until she saw it for herself.

Five portraits, painted by hand it seemed, decorated the ceiling, and it was obvious who they were. The unmagicked faces of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville stared at the trio, linked together by a golden chain that really was the words _friends_ written over and over again. The visual took over their senses, and adoration flood all their hearts, some more than others.

"Wow," Ron commented.

"Oh, I can't believe we called her Loony..." Hermione, muttered, placing her face in her hand. She shed a few tears.

Harry turned away from the sight and looked around the room. He saw pictures of a young Luna, being held by an older woman. Her mother? She had a bed, which looked like no one had slept it in, and the sole carpet, that looked as dusty as the empty cabinet and the picture that was on it.

It was dusty, as if no one had been in the room for a few weeks.

Panic rushed Harry's senses, but he couldn't explain why. He pulled Hermione and Ron by their arms and tried to maneuver them all down the stairs. He smelled a trap being set up, and he wanted to leave the house as soon as possible.

Xenophilius, carrying a tray of bowls, stopped them at the bottom of the stairs. He asked them where they were going, because he made some soup, but Harry was not fooled by the act. If they stayed for the food, they wouldn't be able to escape. If the food was poisoned, there was no chance for escape. _They had to escape, now!_

"Where's Luna, Mr. Lovegood?" Harry demanded, stepping downwards, towards the man carrying the bowls of soup.

"I told you, Harry. She's at the lake."

"Don't lie to me. I can see that you're lying!" Harry exploded.

"_Excuse me! _How rude of you. I can take you into my home, and feed you and you return my hospitality with this?!" Xenophilius exclaimed, hiding the disappointment he felt that the wizard had not fallen for his act.

"SIR! Where is Luna?" Harry demanded again.

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder, begging him to calm down. He turned around at her, asking her if she felt it was strange that Luna's room was so dusty, that her wardrobe was so empty, and that the bed was so pristine, as if no one had slept it in, ever. He turned back to Luna's father.

"I won't ask again. Where is Luna?"

The old man's shoulders slumped forward, his posture defeated. "She's gone, Harry."

"Gone? Where did she go?" he asked. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be.

"They took her away, because of what I was writing in the _Quibbler_. They took her away and I don't know where they're keeping her. I haven't heard from her in weeks, and it's killing me, Harry. They said that if I turn you in, that she'd be able to come back to me. Please understand, you must stay! I can't lose my only daughter! She's all that I have left!" pleaded the old man. He tried to keep them on the staircase.

"I'm sorry, but that isn't possible," Harry muttered quietly. He apologized again, before trying to shove past the man. Hermione and Ron stayed on the steps, watching what was going on.

Hermione was reminded of her parents, of how she felt when she realized she had to hide them, to take them away, or else they would have found a fate worse than Luna's. Death. She sympathized with the man, but she couldn't let Harry be handed over this way. She couldn't let Harry die this way, not if she had the ability to prevent it.

"Ron, Harry, do you trust me?" she asked, screaming to make her voice loud enough for the both of them to hear. Harry was screaming at Xenophilius, who was begging very loudly. Harry stopped and listened to Hermione, as did Ron. They nodded, and she told them to follow her instructions.

"It will be only a few minutes before someone is going to come here and collect us. I'm sure Mr. Lovegood has contacted some people we don't want to run into. We have to leave _now_. Since he won't let us use the front door, we must improvise. Ron, Harry, we need to go back up the stairs." She pulled Harry, and shoved Ron up the stairs. Xenophilius doubled his efforts of pleading. It broke Hermione's heart, but she had to do what she had to do. There was no other way. They were in Luna's room when they heard the voices.

"Xenophilius, you called us. Where is Potter?" a rough voice demanded, muffled.

"He's upstairs. He's upstairs! Catch him before he escapes!" Xenophilius cried desperately.

"Are you sure this isn't a trick, Travers?" a second unfamiliar voice called out.

"No, it's not! He's really upstairs! Please, give me back Luna!" pleaded Xenophilius.

"Get out of our way!" The elder Lovegood made a sound, as if he was kicked. Hermione whimpered a little, feeling very sorry that it had to happen this way.

"Hey, did you hear that? There was a noise up there! Maybe this kook isn't lying. Maybe Potter is really up there!" Feet trampled up the stairs. They stopped, though.

"What are you doing, Lovegood? Why are you moving that contraption?"

"Travers, this is just a set up. The old man's just gone crazy thinking he's seen Potter. I bet he's never seen Potter in his life. He probably doesn't know what Potter looks like!"

"Shh! Go stop him, whatever he's doing. Take his wand!"

Ron stared, wide-eyed at Harry and Hermione, his eyes pleading for an answer for what they were supposed to do now.

"Listen to me. Ron, get under the Cloak and grab my shoulder. Harry, hold my hand. Do as I say!" Hermione whispered. Ron quickly got under the cloak, and Harry gladly captured Hermione's warm hand in his. There were sounds from the lower floor, as if Xenophilius was defending himself against his two attackers.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, staring down at the girl he trusted with his life.

"Just trust me. Hold tight, both of you. Ron, stop whimpering." Hermione strained her ears, waiting for the right moment.

"Just let me go upstairs. I'll fetch him for you!" Xenophilius cried even more desperately than before. His voice broke, as he shuffled dumbly up the stairs. Hermione waited for his head to pop up before she said the spell.

"_Obliviate!" _She directed the spell right at his face.

"_Deprimo!_" She pointed her wand at the floor. The spell created a huge hole in the floor, and they dropped heavily among the rubble of wood and plaster. Ron was still hidden under the Cloak. Harry tried to raise himself up from the debris, but Hermione pulled him down.

"Listen to me, Harry. Show your face to them. Show them that you really were here. It's the only way that Luna's father and Luna will be safe," she begged, her eyes shining with tears.

"Hey, what the hell just happened?"

"Travers, what was that? Where's Lovegood?"

"He came downstairs, asking if I was ready to go to school again. The wizard's a right lunatic! Let's get out of here!"

"Wait, did you see? There's something there, in the rubble!"

"Looking for me?!" Harry screamed, standing in the rubble. The faces that belonged to the voices were surprised.

"It's Potter! Travers, it's really Potter!"

"The man wasn't lying after all! Well, don't just stand there, catch him!"

"Why do I have to do all the bloody work around here?!"

"Harry, now, we have to go," Hermione said. Harry nodded. He grasped her hand even tighter, and Ron did as well.

"Quick! They're getting away!"

Hermione said the spell, and they apparated, tense and scared, adrenaline rushing through their veins.

* * *

For once, Hermione welcomed the awful twirling effects that apparating had on her stomach. She had her best friends only grasps away, Luna's father as well as Luna were going to be safe, and they were all alive.

Her heart was swollen with happiness, but the terror still infiltrated her system.

This time was close. Too close.

Would they be as lucky the next time around?


	14. Part XIV

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **I wish I owned Daniel Radcliffe. Oh, the things I would do to that guy. I don't own him, and I don't own the series that made him an international celebrity. But I can dream that I own him; that's enough, right?

**Author's Note:**

Alright kiddies, it's time to close your eyes if you're too young to be reading this. Sure, I'd be a hypocrite, since I read some stuff that I shouldn't have, when I was just a wee bit too young, but nothing can save me now. But I can still save you!

I have to admit. I'm the type of person who can write a whole bunch of artistic, whimsical, abstract material, but if someone asked me to write a full-blown smut story, I would just break down and cry. However, for some reason, I just kept typing with this one. I wouldn't call it smut, but then again I'd be a liar. Here's my second attempt at smut. Don't stab me with your dirty butter knives if you hate it. I warned you!

Lyrics at the end of the chapter are those of James Morrison; song is called "The Pieces Don't Fit Anymore" which seems appropriate, don't you think? He's amazing; please go look his videos up on youtube. You'll fall in love with his words.

So basically, umm, enjoy? I did.

;D REVIEW! I can't stress it enough. I check my email often just to see if people have responded. And thank you for all the reviews I received from the last chapter. It makes me feel warm inside, to know I haven't lost everyone. And to the one critical review that I did receive, I thank you for pointing that out. I will address it somehow in the next chapter. This one was basically a one-sitting kind of thing. I literally haven't stopped writing, from beginning to end. I like to write these Author's Notes after I complete the chapter, so yeah...

If you need to go change your underwear or take a cold shower or find something to hump after reading this chapter, then I guess I've accomplished some sort of goal here. **REVIEW** first though!

.

* * *

"_Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow."_

**Joss Whedon**

* * *

**Part XIV**

Hermione watched her two boys with an annoyed demeanor, feeling she should be happy that they were on speaking terms with each other without their tempers flaring, but she was flustered, but they were too busy letting the Deathly Hallows get into their minds, as if the primary mission that Albus assigned them meant nothing.

"We have two out of three Hallows! Can you believe this, Harry? This might be the big break that what we were hoping for!" said an animated Ron. He was leaning over a table, where Harry had a piece of parchment that summarized their theory, with evidence and all. It was the most thorough paper that Harry had written, but Hermione was not going to congratulate him for his efforts.

"You don't even know, Ron. I've been thinking about it these past nights, and it seems like everything is just falling into place!" exclaimed Harry, who was just as worse as Ron in his support of the Deathly Hallows theory.

It was like being stuck in the Gryffindor Common Room while they used to strategize formations for Quidditch games. They use to stay up nearly all night, recruited other Gryffindors on the team to contribute to their work, and neatly ignored Hermione, as if she wasn't even present in the room. She learned that when these nights came along, she was better off studying in the library or hanging out with Ginny and her friends.

That was then, a lifetime ago it seemed, but this was now. She stood from where she was sitting, and walked towards the tent exit. She stared up at the sky, its colors stuck in pre-twilight, and she let her thoughts roam.

She didn't like being ignored, especially in such a monumental way. These days Harry and Ron were always huddled together, editing their theory for hours straight, while she was forced to entertain herself. There were only three people in this journey, so if two were caught up, there was always a lone ranger, forced outside the circle. Unfortunately, in this wilderness they now inhabited, there was no escape for Hermione. There was no dusty little library, filled with mysterious books begging to be opened and explored, and there were no other companions. For the first time, she ached for her other friends. She missed them in ways that she thought wasn't possible, because as people assumed at Hogwarts, Harry and Ron were her best friends, her world. It seemed that there would be no Hermione if there was no Harry and Ron. She wondered how her life would have turned out to be, if she hadn't stumbled into their train compartment, asking about Neville's toad.

That thinking always led to a slippery slope of extreme depression, somehow. They made her life exciting, that was obvious. Excitement made life worth living, right? The thrill of the unpredictable and improbable and impossible -- wrapped up in one theme: Harry Potter and His Continuous Struggle To Live. But there were negatives when it came to living with Harry and Ron. First of all, there was the tension brewing between all of them, all involving Hermione and blurry feelings. She wondered that if she hadn't started this _thing_ with Harry, would the situation be as it was now? Would she be fighting with herself over what she felt for both wizards? There shouldn't be a struggle; it was as if someone had already written her life for her, and she only had to accept it. She was supposed to love Ron, to accept him with open arms when he realized his affection for her, to marry him and have a truckload of his children, and live happily ever after. Right?

No, not right. She got tired of waiting for Ron to turn his head, to realize what was there, so she had nothing else to do but move on, without looking back. Moving on was harder than she thought it would be, which probably validated the feelings she knew she had for him, but Harry was there, to ease the pain. Within days, Harry replaced Ron in her dreams. Harry became the leading hero in her stories, with the muscular arms and tight body to grasp her as she rode out the bittersweet pain.

She thought of those nights, those hot nights where clothes were not necessary and all that mattered was the feeling during those moments, the uphill climb of pleasure, and the hot, bursting climax and the leisurely, loving rush down, only to be followed by more pleasure. Harry exercised her body in so many ways, forcing her into positions she thought her body was incapable of forming, and thinking every time that she was a lucky witch for being alone with the young man.

In time, it was Harry's name that came from her lips as she dreamt. Ron became a shadow in the background, an insignificant feature, a forgotten memento of what had been and now what was. Sometimes she wasn't dreaming. Sometimes those fantasies were real life.

She thought of the way Harry used to growl at her, asking her to say his name, to say it loud. She was tied up in arms and legs, her core being plunged into, over and over again, deeper and deeper, and was in no condition to follow directions, especially from the man who was taking her to these heights, these depths that she never knew existed. She mumbled his name, proud that she was coherent enough to do so, but he only slapped her bottom, hard, and demanded that she scream it or else he would stop. She bit her lip, forcing her eyes to not roll into the back of her head from the incredible sense of pleasurable pain, and did as she was told, doing it so well that she had him screaming as well, in a matter of some frantic thrusts.

_"You love it when I do that," Harry mumbled into her shoulder, as his body collapsed on top of hers, not caring that she was drowning in his skin. He wanted her to be smothered this way, to feel the sticky perspiration that clung onto him during their nightly exercises. _

_"Yes, I do," she admitted, letting her hand stroke up and down his back, clawing her way down his shoulder blades, knowing that it made him shiver. She dragged one of her legs around his waist, grinding against him ever so softly, still connected with him. _

_"Nnnghh." Harry was always incoherent when she teased him this way, even if they already had their bout of fun. Harry loved it when she did this; it always meant she wanted more. He'd give her more, as much of him as she was possible of taking, and wouldn't stop until he heard the words come from her lips, knowing Hermione would never say that. She'd ask for more, to make it harder, faster, deeper, egging him on, forcing him to drill into her like a machine. _

_"I think someone's ready for round five," he whispered, leaving butterfly kisses down her exposed neck, biting into that particular part of skin, making her breaths short. She arched her back, feeling him grow within her already wet core, feeling his thrusts slowly build again. She searched for his lips, which he gladly let her find, and she kissed him for her dear life._

_Harry brought one of his hands down from grasping the mattress and slid it down her back, pulling her closer to him, if that was possible at this point. She whined as she broke their kiss, letting a word of encouragement slip, knowing her cheeks were flushed again. Harry, always the unpredictable lover, flipped their positions, without ever breaking their connection, making Hermione yelp as the sudden movement almost bring her to the edge of that terrible mountain cliff, one foot hanging, ready to fall into oblivion. _

_"Your turn," he said, grinning mischievously as he watched her response. She leaned forward, placing her hands on his chest, making sure to rub his nipples, which would've brought him to his knees had he not been on his back already, as she slid up and down his solid member. She impaled herself on him, slowly at first, letting her walls adjust to his intrusion, but she quickly picked up her pace. She curled her legs around his thighs as she felt every inch of him. _

_"Fuck, Harry," she said, unconsciously in her tour de thrusts. Harry liked it when she was this primal, this sexy -- her inhibitions were out the tent window and she was prepared to do absolutely everything to bring them to where they wanted to be. _

_Harry, never wanting to be the passive lover, angled his hips upwards, learning her rhythm, making her scream sharply as he hit that special place within her, over and over again, unrelenting in his powerful charisma. He liked to watch as she rubbed her breasts, pushing them together, rolling her nipples so they puckered up, never letting herself stop gliding up and down, and side to side, reveling in the squishy sounds they made. _

_"You like doing this in front of me, don't you, Hermione? Playing with yourself, like this. You know how much it excites me" he crooned, sitting up slightly on one elbow. His other hand slid down the valley between her breasts, scratching her slightly, dipping into her belly button, and then traveling even more south, brushing past her soft curls, and then finally meeting its destination, that swollen bundle of nerves that he rubbed in slow, circular motions. He felt her body tense up, watched her arch so beautifully, as her hands flew into her hair, messing with the curls that he liked to wrap his fingers in while he took her from behind. In her state of distraction, he brought both of his hands on her hips and pushed her writhing body downward, impaling her completely with such force he almost passed out as he heard the hard slapping sounds signaling his death. Hermione's hips convulsed involuntarily as she laughed, feeling the orgasms come one by one, smiling sexily with her eyes closed, humming with delight at Harry's domination of her body. Harry tried not to blink as she did this, only letting himself blink as he felt himself explode into her, shooting his hot fluid into her, mixing with her own essence._

_She couldn't see, but when she had her eyes closed, Harry only observed her, taking in every detail he could, memorizing how the light of her wand hit her face, illuminating crevices and angles, forming the best portrait he had ever seen in his life. Then she'd open her eyes, almost swimming in tears of happiness or release, and it was over. She pulled herself off of him, crawling into his waiting arm. He kicked the sheets up, pulling them over their hot, clammy bodies. _

_"Hermione," he whispered into her hair. She replied quietly, her eyes drooping as exhaustion took over every bone in her body. _

_"Yes, Harry?" she mumbled, fighting the way her vision blurred with every struggle of a blink._

_"It's time for our bath." _

_He smirked at her, and her body gave in. One more time wouldn't hurt._

* * *

"Okay, mate, that's it for tonight. We've done enough," Ron said, pushing himself away from the table he had sat at for almost half the day.

"Are you sure? I mean, we were making so much progress. i don't think we should stop," Harry protested, looking back at their notes.

"No, I can't. My brain's all jelly now. Plus, I'm starving. Did Hermione find something to cook?" Ron asked, rubbing his stomach. "What's she doing there?"

Harry looked at the direction Ron was pointing at, and saw that Hermione was just standing there, staring at nothing.

"I think she's just thinking," Harry said, rolling up the parchment and putting it away into the knapsack that Hermione carried around.

"Well, tell her to stop, before her brain cracks," Ron joked, shuffling towards his bed. He pulled out his wand from under his pillow and headed out the tent, brushing past Hermione, saying that he was going to look for food.

"I'll be back soon, don't worry. I'll be safe," he promised, walking off into the distant.

His footsteps faded, as did the crunching of the leaves as he created distance from the tent. It was silent, save for some creatures starting to make their nightly sounds. Harry walked towards Hermione, almost knowing that her body was humming with lust and frustration. They had played gone on without their physicality for many nights now. Harry was surprised he hadn't jumped her the moment Ron was out the door.

Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, from behind, pulling her so close against him. She yelped in surprise, though her body molded against his perfectly, like two puzzle pieces. She purred, wondering if Harry read her mind.

"What were you thinking so hard about, Hermione?" he asked, one of his hands pushing her soft brown hair over one of her shoulders, leaving her neck exposed just the way he liked it. His lips found her skin, making her moan so softly, making her head fall back on his shoulders as he continued his torture.

He bit hard, and she cried, shivering as his hands pushed her jumper up, along with t-shirt, feeling for her smoldering hot skin. "Answer me," he said roughly, as one of his hands latched on her breast and the other moved southward, diving under the waist band of her jeans.

"I was... thinking about you," she whimpered, grinding her bottom against his, needing to feel his body respond as extremely as hers did.

"Were you?" he said, in false amazement. The hand under her jumper pulled her bra downwards, freeing her breasts somewhat. He stared down at her bosom, seeing the tell-tale sign of her aroused state, and he proceeded to roll them between two fingers, making sure to pinch and twist them ever so often but not hard enough to cause her too much pain.

"What was I doing in your thoughts?" he whispered into her ear, his teeth latching on for a moment onto her lobe. Hermione bent forward, grinding against him harder. Harry adjusted, hunching over her bent body, making sure to continue his attacks on her breasts, bringing the other hand upward to join the former.

"Me," she squeaked out. Harry chuckled, happy that he wasn't the only one having wet dreams, even when he was conscious, almost every day.

_"_How was I doing you?" he asked next, letting his hips thrust forward, letting his crotch join her grinding hips.

"Please," she pleaded, almost crumbling in his hands.

"You didn't answer my question, Hermione," Harry stated simply, letting his hands out from under her shirt. He stepped away from her and she felt his cold absence. She whined at the loss. She was going to turn around and beg for his attention, but she couldn't.

Harry carried a chair in front of her, which confused her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Harry lifted the jumper and shirt over her head, leaving her semi-indecent in her light blue bra. He took care of that within seconds. He worked on her jeans, sliding them down her hips. He did the same with her underwear, leaving her as naked as the day she was born.

"Harry --"

"Shut up," he said, not in a harsh way. He started discarding his own clothing, until he was left in his boxers. "Hold the back of the chair with your hands and spread your legs."

Harry's demand made Hermione almost melt in pleasure, because she knew what was to come. She walked over to the chair, grasped it like he asked, and spread her legs. Apparently, it wasn't wide enough for Harry.

"Wider." He pushed her legs farther apart. Hermione shot a look over shoulder, observing the dark tint in his emerald eyes, his amazing eyes that looked at her like she was a meal and he was a hungry hunter.

"I confess, I sifted through your mind a little," he said softly. Hermione looked forward, flushing immediately. He saw her thinking that way? Oh, how embarrassing!

She was silent. She didn't know what to say.

"I know you enjoy what we do, Hermione, but I didn't know it thrills you so much that when you think of me that way, your body responds so wonderfully. Without me touching you, your breasts were already heaving, your nipples already puckering and hardening. I bet you were wetting your panties too." Hermione closed her eyes, anxious for what she wanted most: to be touched by Harry. Really touched.

"I think that's very, very sexy," he said. "But let's try something we haven't done before, so you'll have something new to add to your dirty collection of thoughts of me." Hermione was confused, but the moment she felt his tongue flick against her nether lips, all ability to think properly went out the tent flap that she was facing.

"But, but... Harry... _ooh_... Ron might come back," she warned him, half-heartedly. Somehow some part of her wanted Ron to see this; to see how Harry affected her, just to show him that he had no chances left, to make him see that it was now Harry that made her feel complete.

"Damn Ron. I want to do this to you. I've been dreaming of it for nights now. I've filled my days with plotting with Ron. I want to fill my nights touching you. Is that too much for a bloke to ask for?" he reasoned. His tongue slid up and down her slick lips, curling upward into her, tasting her.

"Please," she pleaded.

He couldn't tease himself any longer. He brought his straining member out and eased into her quickly, in one movement. He hissed as he was welcomed so warmly. Hermione let out a silent moan, her hands nearly slipping from the forgotten chair.

"Hold on to the chair," he said. "Don't let go, or else."

"Or else, what?" she dared to reply back.

She waited for his reply, but all she received was a painful slap on her bottom, making her hiss.

"Or else... I do that."

Her fingers slipped off the chair again, and she received another blow, harsher this time, but she hissed in pleasure anyways.

"Don't tell me you like that," he whispered to her back, watching the pink across her skin. His desire was spiraling out of control, but he had to bring it back under his hands. There was a task to be done here.

Hermione grasped onto the back of the chair harder, and stared at the tent flap as Harry moved against her, doing the motions that she craved.

"If you hear anything, tell me," Harry said. He dipped and thrusted, earning a delicious sound from Hermione. He did it again.

"_Yes_," Hermione moaned, caught in the middle of pleasure and a response to his command.

"Good girl," Harry said, a dangerous smirk playing on his face as he continued to pump into her, challenging himself to make her produce as many loud sounds as possible.

The last lights were fading, and twilight gave way to darkness, but Harry did not stop. He would never stop; he needed this as much as she did. He needed her.

The thought scared and thrilled him. He didn't think this insatiable desire would ever stop. He didn't want it to.

He wanted Hermione for himself. He'd take Hermione if he had to. But from the looks of things, there would be more giving than taking when it came to Hermione and him.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Ron heard the crunch of the leaves beneath his feet. He managed to find a rabbit, but not much else. It was better than nothing, he determined.

He was headed back to the tent when he heard the noises.

His body went rigid, and his feet were permanently stuck to the ground. He couldn't escape. He held his breathe, forgetting the motions, and he dropped the dead rabbit on the ground. The blood on his hands was slightly crusting, but he felt it squish as he clenched his fists.

No, it wasn't possible.

"No," he whispered to the wind.

The wind blew by, giving him no answer, no comfort.

"Not again!"

He started running, towards the tent, towards them.

He started running and couldn't stop. His heart was racing as fast as his feet were. He nearly dropped his wand in his haste.

"_**NO**_!"

_I've been twisting and turning in a space that's too small_

_I've been drawing the line and watching it fall_

_You've been closing me in, closing the space in my heart_

_Watching us fading and watching us fall apart_

...

_Well I can't explain why it's not enough_

_Coz I gave it all to you_

_And if you leave me now_

_Oh just leave me now_

_It's the better thing to do_

...

_It's time to surrender_

_It's been too long pretending_

_There's no use in trying_

_When the pieces don't fit anymore_


	15. Part XV

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **I wish I owned Harry Potter. Then I'd be the queen of the world. Snort. I wish.

**Author's Note:**

I'm amazed and so grateful for the response that the last chapter received, in such a short time. Thank you for all the lovely reviews. It made my heart tap dance in glee whenever I saw I got a Review Alert notification in my email. I thank CrazyGunFire for review #199 and disinterested for review #200. A first for me! 8D And phew, my smut-wannabe flew by on the smut-acceptable-radar! There's a bit more in this chapter, but it's definitely not the most interesting part of this long chapter.

I was supposed to study for my Biology midterm, but instead I typed this thing for about two or three hours straight. Prioritizing your life is the key, my dears. Haha!

I don't approve of eating rabbits, seeing as I have a pet bunny of my own that I love very much, but hey... no animals were really harmed in this story. My excuse is that Ron is hungry, and if Ron is hungry, something or someone is going to die to provide him nourishment. The end.

Well, as I said, this chapter is very deserving of the story's rating: **M**. If you're too young, go play on Neopets and just imagine what could be happening. If you frankly don't give a damn (hey, movie reference), then go ahead. It's your innocence, not mine.

Most importantly, please **review**. It feeds fuel to my muse, therefore leading to sooner chapter updates. **REVIEW!**

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* * *

It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.

**Albus Dumbledore**

* * *

Dark times lie ahead of us and there will be a time when we must choose what is easy and what is right.

**Albus Dumbledore**

* * *

But it's not my time I'm not going

There's a fear in me it's not showing

This could be the end of me

And everything I know

But it's not my time I'm not going

There's a will in me and now it's gonna show

This could be the end of me

And everything I know

**3 Doors Down -- Not My Time**

* * *

**Previously...**

_No, it wasn't possible._

_"No," he whispered to the wind._

_The wind blew by, giving him no answer, no comfort._

_"Not again!"_

_He started running, towards the tent, towards them._

_He started running and couldn't stop. His heart was racing as fast as his feet were. He nearly dropped his wand in his haste._

_"NO!"_

* * *

**Part XV**

_**An hour ago...**_

Ron's stomach was grumbling. He winced, rubbing his stomach. There were a few berries around, but he wasn't sure if they were poisonous or not, so he passed them over.

"Maybe I should've paid attention in Herbology," he sighed.

He moved around, gliding past tall leaves, touching trees as he walked deeper into the forest. There were creatures, he could hear them, but there was nothing that he could catch quickly.

A ruffle in the leaves produced a cotton tail, and Ron's eyes brightened -- a rabbit!

He crouched, shuffling towards his dinner, careful not to alert it too much. He brought out his wand, ready to send a stunning spell towards the furry little creature. The spell missed, and the rabbit fled. Ron ran after it, sending stunning spell after stunning spell, hitting it a few times. The little bunny didn't give up; neither did Ron. He was too hungry to be lazy.

Sensing the thing was slowing down, Ron was prepared to grab it and finally end this game. The bunny laid on his side, with one of its legs at a weird angle. It was broken.

"Yes, dinner!"

As he crouched over the rabbit, he was filled with joy. He caught something and would be rewarded with a good dinner tonight. He started to pull it up by its hind legs, when he heard distinct pops behind him. Those definitely weren't twigs; he could smell the magic residue in the air. _Not a good sign at all_.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. Nice catch," said a malicious voice. Ron, his senses as alert as the rabbit when he first recognized a predator in its vicinity, became tense. _Shit, they've found me_.

"It's as good as any of us are eating this days, anyways. The higher ranks always get the feasts, while we're stuck with the scraps," a second voice called out. _Double shit._

Ron turned around, stood up, and faced the trackers that had caught him once before. He smiled at them, shrugging as he held the rabbit in his hands. Its blood squirted onto his hands, but he took no mention to it. There were trackers about. He had to make sure it wasn't his blood that was spilled.

"Oh hey, guys," he mumbled, as if they were buddies.

"Really? I thought we were accomplices. We deserve a less awkward greeting than that!" claimed Travers, the tracker that he escaped the first time he was caught and thought he was never going to see again.

"S-sorry" Ron stuttered. His wand was in his pocket, but his hands were burning. He thought he felt the dead rabbit twitch in his hands.

"So, have you found our package, yet?" asked the other tracker, with a wink.

"Package?" asked Ron, stupidly. He knew what the were talking about, but perhaps maybe they would have forgotten that.

"Yes, our reward for letting you go that first night. Imagine our surprise when one of our captures declared that he could bring in a more bountiful capture. The great Harry Potter himself, and a Mudblood to boot." Travers was laughing, now. The younger wizard was so frightened; he could smell the fear on him.

"Oh, _that _package," laughed Ron.

"Well, have you found them yet?" The trackers were getting irritated.

"Well," Ron started, "Here's the thing..."

"We've given you more than enough time. You really thought you could escape us, huh? We'll confess something. We've been following you, Ronald Weasley. They don't call us trackers for nothing!" The two Death Eaters smiled at each other.

"Sure, we were surprised when our spell told us you were near your home, the Burrows. We thought you might have tried fleeing home. Good thing you didn't! Imagine what we have done to your entire family! But no, you went to the Lovegood's residence. Some friends of ours said you were with Potter and Granger. So you've found them? Goody!"

"Umm..." Ron was at a loss for words.

"Let's update our little contract, Ronald. We're giving you a timetable. We want those two, handed over by you only, within the next twenty-four hours. If you haven't replied, haven't delivered our package, we will find you, Ronald. We'll all travel to your home, and you can watch every member of your large family die, starting with your mother. Travers, here, will do special number on your sister. Hogwarts is on break, right? Oh, yes. Then, after you see all that, we'll give you an opportunity to off yourself, because I'm sure all the guilt will bring you to it anyways. And if you don't, you little coward, then we'll do it ourselves."

"I can see the headlines already. Entire Weasley family massacred in their own home, by the wand of son Ronald Weasley. That's really going to shake up the Ministry, right?"

Ron gulped. The rabbit was forgotten; fear filled him like air in a balloon.

"Twenty three hours, fifty-eight minutes, and thirteen seconds, and counting," Travers said mockingly, tapping his wrist.

"You know what to do, or rather what to say, when you're ready. Just one word, and we'll be here to collect," Travers' tracker companion added.

The trackers disapparated with mischievous smiles.

Ron stayed still, scared out of his skin.

Twenty three hours, fifty seven minutes, and five seconds.

* * *

His heart felt as if it was weighed down by dumbbells. He was crushed to know that his past was coming back to haunt him. He really thought that what had happened was a one-time thing. He told Harry and Hermione that he was caught, lied about his name, and escaped, but he never told them the whole truth. He was caught, but he made a deal with the trackers. Two lives for a life.

There was no other way for him to escape, if he didn't make up that lie, that lie that guaranteed the lives of his two friends, that lie that could possibly hand them over for the Dark Lord's pleasure. He was an accomplice to murder now. There was no turning back.

He had a choice to make -- save his friends or kill his family, as well as himself. It was the most difficult choice he was ever forced to make in his life, but it was his decision nonetheless. His life and his family, or his friends?

He imagined his mum, cooking dinner and yelling at his brothers and sister, and his father walking into the kitchen, asking what was going into his stomach that night. He imagined them, and he wanted to cry. The sharp tears were forcing their way onto his face, but he held them back. He had to control himself; he had to be level-headed. He had to do this, whether he wanted to or not.

Seeing the green lights flashing, seeing them fall like flies towards the ground, seeing the glassy eyes stare at him, their fingers pointing at him, blaming him for their deaths. His heart burst from his chest, cutting off its connections, leaving him in a bloody mess. He looked down and saw that he was clutching the dead rabbit like a security blanket. The blood was on his hands, and he couldn't shake it off.

He was panicking, and couldn't stop.

He saw the tent, an ant in the distance. He stopped, and wondered whether he'd make a decision by the time he reached that little home away from home. He wondered if he could look at his friends, straight in their eyes, and not break down. Could he sacrifice them? Would he sacrifice them?

The voices of reason in his mind battled with each other, calling out pros and cons of both decisions. If he saved Harry and Hermione, they had a chance of living. They could go on and beat the Dark Lord and end all this mess. But what if they didn't, especially at the pace they were going, and his family was sacrificed in vain? If he saved his family, then he'd have something to fall back on, when he made the ultimate betrayal. They would forgive him, take him in, see his side of the story. They would help him wash the blood off his hands. They would protect him when the accusations flew. They would do everything; they had to.

What if he gave them all to the Dark Lord, handed them over like a Christmas present? Ron was breaking down, was in an unstable condition, and his emotions flew about, confusing him and worrying him and depressing him. There was no happy ending, either way he went, and he knew it.

He was even closer to the tent. Twenty three hours, nine minutes, and two seconds.

It was the longest walk in his life. His feet dragged behind me, his body screaming in protest. His heart jumped from its place, dragging behind him like a rock attached to him by the thinnest rope. His mind was a tornado, wiping every reasonable and happy thought from his memory.

This was the moment he'd either cherish or regret for his entire life.

Twenty-three hours, two minutes, and eighteen seconds.

He was a few yards now, and heard the noises.

The tell-tale noises, the ones that would bring him over the edge, make the decision for him.

"_Harry... unnggh... yes! Right there, fuck! Right there."_

"_Fuck, Hermione, fuck! I can feel every inch of you, ugghhh..."_

_"Don't stop, baby. Don't. Ever. Stop."_

_"So good... so wet... so tight..."_

_"Take it all, Harry. It's all yours. Take it, harder."_

_"You want it harder?"_

_"Yes, pound yourself into me. I want to feel you, all of you, right in me, right here, right now."_

_"Ahhh! God, yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Harry, I'm... I'm com... Ohhh!"_

_"Fuck, Hermione!"_

"No," he whispered to the wind.

The wind blew by, giving him no answer, no comfort.

"Not again!"

He started running, towards the tent, towards them.

He started running and couldn't stop. His heart, dragging like a faithful pet, was racing as fast as his feet were. He nearly dropped his wand in his haste.

"**NO**!"

* * *

Hermione was dropping from her high, her body hung over the chair with bum raised in the air, feeling Harry's hands on her shoulders. His hips stopped convulsing, stopped jerking into her. His sweat dropped from his forehead, onto her.

She felt like her bones were made of jelly. Harry could have controlled her like a marionette doll, pulling the right strings, pushing the right buttons.

"Oh, that was... wonderful," she said, her voice muffled by her own hair.

"We've never done it this way, but I think I want to try it again," Harry said, sliding his fingers down her sensitive back. He liked how she shook, despite her boneless state.

"For some reason, you only get better and better," Hermione said, blushing with embarrassment.

"No, you only give more of yourself to me every time. You let me take control of you, like you know you like it. You've never let go so much as you did just now, and it was the hottest thing I've seen. Watching you fall apart like that gets me incredibly excited." He dragged his fingers down her back still, making sure to scratch her shoulder blades and slide down her sides, knowing it turned her on so wildly. He knew her body as well as his own.

"Harry, please stop. You're trying to get me to go another round. I don't think I can, after _that_."

Harry leaned over her, letting her feel him again, deep within her. She moaned at the feeling, contemplating whether she could give in again. Right now, it felt like the best thing to do.

"Oh, I'm sure you can. Remember that night... we went six rounds," he whispered into her, his hands making their way to her front, grasping at her chest. He twisted and squeezed with expert hands.

"And it took me nearly three days to recover, yes," she commented, losing her breath. Harry's hips were thrusting little by little, and she could feel the familiar knotting in her stomach.

"I'm never going to let you recover. I'm going to keep taking you, whether you've got the energy or not," Harry said, strongly, with no shame. Hermione responded with a moan, egging Harry on. She put a knee on the chair, and move backwards into Harry, liking the angle this position gave them. She snaked an arm around Harry's neck, whispering little dirty phrases in his ear. She bit on his lobe, taking it between her teeth, making him groan. She decided to give in to him. She always did.

"Keep talking like that, and you'll end on all fours, on this ground," he warned.

Hermione smiled up at him, letting a kiss linger on his lips, and said, "Sounds like a good plan to me. The only problem is, will I let you throw me around so easily? I'm a fighter, baby. I'm not going down, without a fight."

An image of her head bobbing up and down on his prick filled his mind. Harry closed his eyes, trying to block his overly active imagination. He was already in her, but he was picturing other ways he could take her. He was a fiend for her sex, and he couldn't deny it. Her dirty talking wasn't helping him either. It took a while for her to get comfortable with it, but now that she was, she did it almost unconsciously. It was like having the key to the best thoughts in that brain of hers, the thoughts that he brought on, the ones he inspired, the ones only he was allowed to hear.

"You might find yourself pinned," he whispered, biting her bottom lip. His hand trailed downwards, feeling the swollen bundle of nerves that would make her go crazy, if he rubbed it the right way. Two of his fingers reached down, moving the bud in a clockwise and then counter-clockwise motion. She stopped formulating sentences, only letting her desire take control. His thrusts were gaining speed, and depth, but it wasn't enough.

"Take me harder, Harry. I want it harder," she demanded, grabbing the back of his head, forcing him to stare straight into her eyes as his hips pounded into her.

"You want it harder?" Harry's eyes brightened, a royal emerald now, a sparkling green. She saw herself in his eyes, a messy but passion-crazed maniac. She liked what she saw. He pounded into her now, plowed her over and over again.

"Yes, pound yourself into me. I want to feel you, all of you, right in me, right here, right now."

Harry stared at her, watching her eye lids droop and her eyes start to roll to the back of her head. With his free hand, he took her chin sharply, forcing her to look at him again.

"I want to look at you when you come apart in my arms," he whispered softly. "I want you to keep your eyes open, so I can see the passion crazy in your eyes. I want to see your soul shiver. I want to see you while you moan my name. Keep your eyes open. Let me see you fall apart. Let me see you."

Hermione stared at him, trying to follow his instructions. The pressure was building up, too much to the point of pain. He rubbed her bundle of nerves faster, never relenting in his thrusting, and pulled her hair back slightly, exposing the skin that he nibbled on, glancing ever so often to her face, waiting for her expression the moment she came. That was all she needed.

"Ahhh! God, yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Harry, I'm... I'm com... Ohhh"

"Fuck, Hermione!"

She rode the waves of her orgasm, milking him, bringing him to his climax.

It was his turn for his knees to turn to jelly.

"Merlin, that was bloody fantas..." started Harry. He pulled out of her, untangled his body from hers, when he heard it.

"**NO!**"

"Fuck, Hermione! It's Ron!" Harry plucked their clothing off the ground, dressing himself, and then helping her dress. It was a race to decency, and they were losing, badly.

"Oh my god, this isn't happening," Hermione mumbled. Her shirt wouldn't go over her head. Harry was pulling her sweats up, but the material ripped in his hands.

"Shit!"

"Get my blanket, get my blanket," she cried desperately. He ran towards her bed, pulled up the material, and flung it around her. Her shirt laid forgotten on the ground, next to her ripped bottoms.

The red-head appeared, his hands and shirt covered in blood. His eyes blazed with fury, and he shook, like he was sick. The rabbit twitched in his hands, looking almost alive, but it was his hand that shook so dangerously.

"Ron, please listen--" Harry and Hermione said simultaneously.

The bomb exploded. Twenty-three hours, one minute, zero seconds.

Ron opened his mouth, and started lashing out. The firing squad came out and started the fight. Harry and Hermione stood, victims to the fury.

Twenty-two hours, fifty-nine minutes, zero seconds.

* * *

Ron was a few yards from them, when he saw it with his eyes.

Betrayal, in its most painful form.

He saw his girl, in the throes of passion, with another bloke.

He saw red.

He covered the distance, and took them by surprise.

They sputtered excuses, gathering their clothing, covering up their indecency. The chair was thrown down in their haste.

"Ron, please listen --" they both started, clutching their clothing, gathering themselves up.

"I knew it, but I didn't want to accept it. Now I have to. Harry, you bastard. You know she was the one for me. You could've had all the girls in the world -- any of them, but you had to take mine? What about Ginny, you git, your girlfriend?!"

"You know we broke up; don't bring that up."

"Oh, you thought it was over for her? She's devastated by what you did. And when she finds out about _this_, I doubt you'll be alive to fight the real enemy."

"Ron, calm down," said Hermione, who wanted to keep the mood of the situation as calm as possible.

"No, you scarlet woman, you little viper, you have no say in this. You knew I had feelings for you. You knew you and I were supposed to end up together. It was so obvious. I'm gone for a little over a month and you jump on the next bloke available? I knew you were always a slag. First Krum, then Harry? I don't even want to imagine who the guys in between were. How many of my friends did you fuck behind my back, Hermione?"

"Hey! Take that back, Ron. You're the bloody idiot here. You _left _us. You abandoned us. You killed her, you nearly did, by leaving. She cried for nights, walked around like a zombie for days, and was so sick that I couldn't do anything about it. She was sick because of you, sick in the head. Sick in the heart, sick in the stomach. Why did you come back, Ron? To kill her a little more, take the last bits of her that remain? Because you're doing an awful good job of that right now."

"Well, she didn't have trouble finding any help, especially from you. I don't even want to know how many times you've screwed her behind my back. I may have left, but that doesn't mean my claim over her has expired! It never did. She was still mine, but you took her anyway. Just because she was close. Just because you were desperate for a female, just because Ginny wasn't around to stop you."

"Don't take Ginny into this, Ron, if you favor your life. She has nothing to do with this."

Hermione wouldn't take the insults lying down. She had to respond to Ron's anger.

"What claim do you have over me, Ron? Do I have a big red tattoo on my forehead that says "Property of Ron Weasley, Do Not Touch"? Well let me tell you one thing, Ronald, I am no one's girl! I am no one's property! I am not yours, I am not Harry's. I belong to _me_ and if I were you, I'd make sure to remember that. You left me, Ron. That's the truth. You left me, and I stayed behind to pick up the broken pieces. I was forced to put myself back together again, and I'm glad Harry was around -- if he wasn't, I wouldn't be here to be fighting with you. You hurt me, cut me so deeply, Ron. I was broken to the point where I was contemplating how to make my death look like an accident. An accident!"

Harry looked at Hermione, not knowing this. Even he had no clue that she was so deep in depression, those days. He guessed it, but he never thought the girl he knew for so many years was capable of such dark thoughts.

Ron was silent, his eyes the only indication that he was still with them.

"Now you know why I had to turn to Harry. I had to, to save my own life. You don't know how many times I stared into water, thinking how long it would take to lose consciousness if I stopped breathing. You don't even know. I was broken beyond repair, or so I thought. If you were in my position, wouldn't you turn to someone else? You always had another girl on the side, despite your 'obvious feelings about me.' Remember Lavendar, Ron? Remember that girl you were attached by the hip to, for an entire school year?"

"She was nothing, she --"

"Well, she didn't feel that way. She told me, Ron. She told me everything -- what you said to her, what you did to her. Everything. She did this to spite me, or maybe she was just an excited little school girl with a school girl crush on the idiot who wouldn't look twice at the person that _loved_ him like no other. How many years, Ron? Five, six, seven years? How could anyone wait for that long, and keep waiting, without falling into pieces every night? I may be called a smart witch, but I wasn't smart about you. I let you get to me -- the pain you caused me, it inched into every fiber of my being. You were the world to me, Ron. You were everything, aside from Harry. You let me go, you disappointed me, you ruined everything for us. So who should be blaming who for ruining the good things in our lives, Ron? Me? Harry?"

"You could have waited just a bit longer! I'm not the smartest bloke around! You could have waited for me."

"Ron, I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of waiting for the day you change. I'm tired of you, of everything. You were never there for me, when I needed you. You never held me the right way, never thought of my well-being. You just added a little oomph into your neglect when you decided to storm out on me and Harry, on our mission. You and I died the day you left this tent."

The wind howled, a slight illustration of how all three friends were feeling at the moment.

"I'm not going to accept this, Hermione. I'm going to give you an ultimatum. It's either me or Harry. If you choose Harry, then forget about us. Forget about knowing my family. Forget about our future. Forget about it all. You'll cease to exist in my life; do you think you could handle that?"

"Ron, you bloody bastard. You can't make her choose! You've got a lot of balls to be doing this -- you heard her. She's done with you!" Harry, flustered and furious, pointed a finger at the red-headed mess.

"Harry, this is your ultimatum too. If you choose Hermione, then good riddance to both of you, you cheating, lying, back-stabbing slags. Say goodbye to my family, the ones who took you in when no one wanted you, who loved you, who was about to adopt you as one of our own. Forget them, because though the favor you sometimes, blood is always thicker than water. They'll choose my side, because they're forced to. You will become the orphan you always were -- the unloved, lonely, pitiful little orphan who had no one left. I'm tired of you always overshadowing my life anyways. I'm always just your sidekick, Harry. Today, it stops."

"This is unfair!" Hermione exclaimed.

"No, the situation you're putting me in is unfair. You didn't have to drive us this way. You could've stopped, that day at the meadows. You couldn't stopped rolling around with each other. You've got a brain, Hermione. Why didn't you use it then?"

"You saw that?" Hermione whispered, wide-eyed. So he knew all along?

"And I saw your little love letter, the one about how you weren't sorry about what you did. Why did you think I ran out of here so quickly, huh? Harry was looking for parchment and it dropped on the floor. I picked it up and there it was, the first real evidence that what I saw wasn't a hallucination, a dream. You _wanted_ him to take you then, to spoil you, to taint you, and you wanted it again, right now. You wanted him to fuck you, to make you scream -- You wanted it, and don't deny it. You're in no condition to lie to me -- why don't you put on some robes, cover yourself up? The secret's out in the open now -- Hermione Granger is a slag and loves it from behind, especially from rich, powerful wizards. You filthy Mudblood, you horrible, disgusting, pathetic girl. I don't know what I saw in you."

Ron's rage was full-blown now, and showed no side of ebbing away. Adrenaline pumped through his system, feeding him confidence. He was ready to beat Harry and Hermione as well. He was ready to make them see straight.

"_Ron!_ Really? Did you have to take it there? Using that word?" Harry exclaimed, jumping in front of Hermione, taking a stance.

"Well, that's what she is -- and she knows it. You were always just the Mudblood, right Hermione? Always the girl who never really belonged at Hogwarts, who forced her way into acceptance? Always the silly little Muggle thinking she could be a witch. You can't even ride a broom properly -- even Lavendar knew how to do that."

"That's enough!" Harry shouted, confronting Ron.

"What are you going to do, Harry? Punch me? AK me? I'd love to see you try" Ron said.

"Leave." Hermione's voice was quiet, but her tone solid.

"Shut up, this is a wizard's duel. Keep yourself out of this." Ron's blood stopped boiling, was just simmering now. The high that overtook him when he started this battle was slowly going away. The fear and insecurities were crawling back into his mind; he needed to speed this fight up.

"Don't you dare speak to her, Ron" Harry said, pulling out Hermione's wand from his pocket.

"Oh, so there will be a duel, then?" Ron said with a smile, twirling his own wand in his fingers.

And so it began.

* * *

Hermione watched her boys battle with their lives, caught in the middle. She screamed at them, asking them to stop. They were hitting each other with spells, blood was spilling, but they didn't stop. When wands were dropped, they resorted to fists. They dropped to the ground, rolling over and over, fighting for dominance.

Harry caught Ron under his weight, and pummeled his former best friend with all his power. He remembered the nights Hermione cried over him, the nights she cried his name in her sleep, the words Ron called her, the name he dropped during their argument, and especially the night that Ron kept swinging at him, even though he had just saved his life only moments before.

Ron tried to shove Harry off him, deflecting his swings with his forearms covering his face. He felt his own blood seep into the sleeves of his clothing.

He thought about the decision he was supposed to make. His family, his unsuspecting loving family, or his friends? The ones that fucked each other behind his back? The ones that took sides against him? The ones who punched him till he was dripping in his own blood? The ones who were supposed to save the world, but instead was turning his own upside down and inside out?

His mind was clear now. His decision was obvious. He knew who he was going to save.

Twenty-two hours, thirty-eight minutes, and twenty-six seconds.

"_VOLDEMORT_!" he screamed, taking Harry by surprise. Harry stopped swinging, wondering why Ron would say that while he was getting beaten to a bloody pulp. Was Voldemort's name the new "uncle", the new word of surrender?

Hermione watched, happy that the fists stopped flying, but perplexed as to why Ron screamed that name.

"**VOLDEMORT**!" Ron screamed louder, smiling a bloody smile at Harry.

"Why the fuck are you smiling, you idiot?" Harry was angry and scared. He felt like Ron was going to do something that would sweep the rug out from under him. Ron had something up his sleeve, but he didn't know what.

"You made me do this, Harry. You both did," Ron said calmly.

Within seconds, they were surrounded by black-robed figures.

Hermione screamed as two people grabbed her. Harry flew off Ron, running towards Hermione, but was stopped when a pair of hands caught him.

"What's going on here?!" Harry shouted.

"Oh, you didn't know that the name's Taboo now? Oh poor Potter. One slip of the word and we'll be here. Oops, Weasley didn't tell you? What a shame!" Fenrir Greyback, one of the dark-robed figures, said. The hired mercenary had Hermione in his grasp. He sneaked his face close to hers, pretended to lick and nip her. Harry's fury grew as her shrieks grew louder.

"Where's Travers and that other fellow?" asked Ron. No one was holding him, because it wasn't necessary. He was in on the raid.

"They informed us of the capture. They were so excited, you'd swear they had Potter on their hands. Imagine our surprise when they said it was exactly the situation. We had to come here, to see it for ourselves. We won't be needing them anymore. We've found what we've been searching for. It's been a couple months. You're an elusive lot, aren't you?" Scabior, another Death Eater said.

"Ron, what the bloody hell is going on here?" Harry screamed at Ron. He noticed that no one was bothering Ron. He had a grasp of what was going on, but he wanted only Ron to confirm it. He wanted to know if Ron had really done the impossible.

"Isn't it obvious, Harry?" mumbled Ron, a ruffled and bloody mess. Black robes flew into their tent, taking everything that looked suspicious and disapparated. Fenrir kept Hermione in his iron grasp, and Harry was stuck as well. Ron stood alone, as every traitor does. Hermione started crying, asking why Ron would do such a thing, calling for Harry. Fenrir covered her mouth with his hands, muffling her pleas. Harry wanted to break free of his binds and rip Fenrir to shreds, as much as he wanted to rip Ron into shreds.

"An eye for an eye. A betrayal for a betrayal. Life's full of tough decisions, right?" Ron stated.

"Fuck you, Ron!" Harry screamed. He tried to charge towards the new Pettigrew.

Ron shrugged. He was numb to what was going on around him. He didn't protest when a hand roughly grabbed his shoulder.

"MALFOY MANOR!"

They all disapparated, leaving the tent to stand where it was planted.

The wind blew, leaves rustled, and the scene was silent.

* * *

The full moon was a beacon in the sky, shining light down on the inhabited land.

A piece of parchment on the ground, caught in the gust, was lifted. It flew upwards, unraveling familiar words.

**Whatever you may say, I don't regret what we did.**

Something was scribbled underneath the message. It was a new addition, scribbled in chicken scratch handwriting by the hand of the red-headed friend turned foe.

_But one day you will, and you will be gravely sorry._

The dirty parchment flew upward, bringing the message to the heavens.

It would eventually fall, like all things brought up into the air. It would fall, as they would, as they all would.


	16. Part XVI

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **I own whatever I can fit into my bags. That's pretty much it. I'd very much like to stuff Harry Potter/Daniel Radcliffe into my bag, but he wouldn't be able to breathe, and then you know what happens. I'll have a Neville moment. "Oh my God, I killed Harry Potter!"

**Author's Note:**

Okay, just let me get down on my knees and just praise you all. The response from the last chapter was AMAZING. I've never had such a strong response for a single chapter. Many of you knew what was coming, and yet went with the flow. With all this positive response, I started feeling the pressure of delivering the best possible chapters as possible. It scared me, a little. I don't want to let you guys down. I don't want to let myself down. I need to put out the best material as possible, as quickly as possible as well, so I'll try my best.

Anyways, enough of the seriousness. I'm so happy that so many of you don't mind my Ron-bashing. I obviously don't like the character. If you haven't noticed, then uh... maybe you really are reading so far between the lines that you're missing the story... ;T

_Specific reviews I'd like to address:_

To **Quincy Hunter**: I will try my best to stay away from that "ZOMG Hermione gets raped and it destroys her life forever" plot. I never liked them before I started writing my own fanfiction, and I still do not like them. If you've read any other story of mine, you would probably see that Hermione doesn't get sexually molested or raped in the majority of them, because honestly, you need a whole lot of explanation to justify something like that happening to a significant character. So rest assured, I'm not bringing the story that way, ever.

To **scaryisntit**: I understand everything you brought up. Yes, I really didn't indicate much gestures during the huge chunk of dialogue. I regret that now, but I guess I assumed that people would associate certain body language with the words said during the argument. I usually put a helluva lot of emphasis on their gestures, if you noticed in previous chapters, but I didn't this time. Duly noted. And on the other topic -- yeah, it's a bit awkward. I understand the whole idea of these words being inserted in there, and yeah... I'm a bit embarrassed when it comes to writing smut. It sort of brings away from the personal relationships between the characters sometimes. Or so I think. I'll try harder to make it more realistic -- because honestly, that grammar is reserved for pornographic videos and not real life. Thank you for pointing these out.

To **OrliGolas-4eva**: I'm sorry I've disappointed you with how Ron turned out to be. I've never really had much patience with his character, but I tried to give him some sort of dignity. Because choosing between family and friends is tough, but when you've got to give either one up -- which would you choose, honestly? It's a hard decision, which is what I tried to convey. Hopefully what happens in the future will make you like Ron again. I made the readers hate Ron, but I will redeem him somehow. I have to.

To **The Seamonkey**: You've hit the idea behind the entire story right on the head. Amazing. I'm not saying whether I'm killing off Ron or not, but what you said before that was completely true. You said it better than I could -- changing the catalysts of events, but still staying true to the canon. Thank you for continuing to read and review this plot bunny grown Plot Flemish Giant Rabbit.

Get ready for a whopping 9,100+ words of new chapter. It's getting good. Really good.

.

* * *

I shut the world away from here

I drift to you, you're all I hear

As everything we know fades to black

.

Half the time the world is ending

Truth is I am done pretending

.

I never thought that I

Had anymore to give

You're pushing me so far

Here I am without you

Drink to all that we have lost

Mistakes we have made

Everything will change

But love remains the same

**Gavin Rossdale -- Love Remains the Same**

* * *

**Part XVI**

It all happened too fast for her to comprehend. She was still trying to analyze what happened, and how Ron could have committed the crime. She couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that their plans were thrown out the window now, and they were probably days from their defeat. She couldn't think with the silent buzz in the depths of her mind, annoying and frustrating her, while she was thrown around like a rag doll by the werewolf who wouldn't stop sniffing her. If she wasn't constrained by his strength and her sudden bout of complete mental and physical numbness, she would have fought back. The treasonous words kept replaying in her mind, but she wouldn't associate them with his voice. That would mean that it really happened, that Ron had really handed Harry over to Voldemort, like an animal sacrifice on a garnished silver plate to a pagan god by the hands of fearful followers.

She was angry beyond the limits of her body, the thing that wasn't responding to the commands she was trying to give it. _Break free, run, save Harry_. She tried to look over her shoulder, but Greyback quickly whipped her around, warning her that it would only hurt in the long run if she kept looking for Harry. He put a little too much force in his gesture, and she felt something crack somewhere along her neck and back, but she didn't feel the pain that should have gone along with the injury. Her nerves were shot and her body was shutting down. It gave up on her, but she didn't want to give up just yet. Not when she was still breathing, still kicking, still able to stop the inevitable from happening.

The whirling of the apparate spell messed with her equilibrium, but luckily the werewolf was there to carry her. Unfortunately, the same hands that kept her upright were also keeping her constricted.

"Given up yet, dear? Because I suggest you save your energy and do so. You'll be needing it in the next few hours. If you're broken by the first spell, you'll only die a sooner death," said the mercenary. She responded by bashing her fists against his chest, but he only laughed joyfully. He loved the victims when they were desperate and fighting for their lives. He was a werewolf, the real kind, not the sugar-coated, unnatural, friends-with-humans especially Muggles, kind.

She shut up immediately and didn't speak again for the latter half of the journey to the Malfoy Manor. They had apparated quite a distance away from the place, a defensive decision of caution on the Dark Lord's side, but they were swiftly approaching the gigantic mansion. The weather was dark and dreary, which seemed perfect for the tragically old and traditional abode of wealth. Not a ray of sun shone from the gray skies, and it looked like it was going to rain soon. The iron gates of the mansion looked rusty yet dependable, decorated with the Malfoy crest, as well as their family motto. Hermione's mind was far too gone to notice this. She was only trying to keep her breathe, to stay rational.

Somewhere behind her, Harry was being dragged by two Death Eaters whose hoods hid their faces. They weren't holding him as closely as Greyback did with Hermione, because they didn't have to. They magically tied his hands behind him, a disadvantage for a wizard, and took away Hermione's wand, which he was carrying when they were raided. They didn't find the pouch he was hiding on his body, but they took enough to debilitate him. His only option was to walk as slowly as possible, trying to figure out a plan to get out of this trouble. He held his head up, trying to catch a glimpse of Hermione through the two robed figures that were dragging him along. He thought he caught a glimpse of chestnut, wavy hair in the distance, but it disappeared as soon as they blocked his view once again. The two Death Eaters in front of him were joking along, extremely happy with the catch they had made, wondering aloud about the way the Dark Lord would reward them for their job well done. Harry wasn't daft. He knew there were an army of Death Eaters behind him, ready for his attempt at escape. Their wands were itching to cast the perfect spell against the bane of their master's existence, the Wonder Boy, the Boy Who Would Die Soon Enough.

Hermione and Harry's plans were ruined. The pieces of the puzzle were irrevocably dismantled, and soon, the Dark Lord would blast them to bits and pieces, glorifying in his victory over the only wizard who could have saved the entire magical world. And why was this? Who was responsible? Ronald Weasley, his former best mate, his former confidante, his former Quidditch teammate, his _brother_ by spirit. The wound that Ron cut into him was deep. The blood was still dripping. Betrayal by the hand of the ones you trusted with your life is the worst kind. No bandages or serums would heal this wound. It would bleed until it desired to stop, then it would crust and form an ugly brown scab that would never heal, not at this point. It would always remind him that trusting the ones closest to you was just as dangerous as walking into a battle with the Dark Lord with injuries and no wand. The little ray of light, of hope that he held in his heart was slowly diminishing, until it would eventually fade into the black lake of disappointments and failures and gloom that overtook him, that defined him.

The terrain was changing. The dark forest they trudged through became a dark road, with rich, dark chocolate mud, drooping willows, and brooding black birds staring as they engulfed the woodland creatures in their beaks. The road became a steel gray road surrounded by flat, dry lands. The clash of civilization and nature was striking, like the Manor that laid waiting for their arrival. Calling it a mansion would be a simple definition. It was glorious, but it was jaded by the dark magic that surround it like a black mist. The walkway was long, passing by exotic looking shrubbery and threatening statues. A flash of white caught Harry's eyes and he was amazed; the albino peacock was majestic as it spread its pure white feathers. It was an awkward creature, holding up its plumage, wailing a cry for help. Trust the Malfoys to capture beauty and put it into a cage, a dreary, death-ridden mirage in the middle of broken nature. It seemed fitting, but the moment passed.

They were welcomed as soon as the Death Eaters stated their purpose to the guards that stood beside the entrance to the mansion. The iron-rod gates couldn't open fast enough for the wolf, so he kicked them open. The other Death Eaters looked down at him, disgusted at his demeanor. He wasn't even a complete member of their prestigious group yet. He was just a pawn, like the trackers, like the victims they took to their dungeons.

The scene changed quickly. Before he knew it, Harry was in the presence of the Malfoys, who looked ecstatic to see him. The day the Malfoys welcomed his presence in their home as a guest was the day Lucius Malfoy decided to be a double agent for the Light. Draco Malfoy was a likely possibility, however far of a shot that was from reality, but the elder blond was too blinded by his prejudice to see the straight way of life.

"Harry Potter," drawled Lucius Malfoy, flashing him a malicious grin. "We've been expecting you."

The rest of the group shuffled into the formal living room of the Manor.

"You won't believe how happy we are to see you amidst our ranks." The wizard was practically twirling in delight. An unsettling feeling plunked itself at the bottom of Harry's stomach. His scar wasn't burning, so the Dark Lord was obviously somewhere else at the moment, but news would travel fast, and he'd arrive soon enough.

"Unfortunately, I can't say the same," Harry shot back. They might have tied his hands, but they had not taken his voice and his wit.

"Well, it's time that the tides have turned in our favor. It's been far too long since a victory has been won for our side. Your luck just ran out, Potter." Lucius motioned to Scabior and Greyback, telling them to bring all the victims forward. Scabior released Harry from the binding spell before he was pushed to the center of the room. Hermione and Harry were shoved into the spotlight, but Ron stayed where he was. He was just as tall as the robed figures he sided with, but he lacked the special black robe and the Dark Mark. He wasn't the only one. Greyback didn't have the tattoo, but he was working his way there. Unfortunately for him, the fates were against him. He wasn't born to be one of them, but he was content with what he had.

"I see Potter and Granger. Where's the third one?" commented Lucius, who prowled before them, taking long strides from one end of the rich carpet they were mucking up, to the other.

"He's the reason they're here, actually," one of the Death Eaters said out loud. "He handed them over, to save his own life." Ron let a small sound escape from his mouth. The words were plain and true; he was a traitor now. He belonged to no sides.

"Really?" Lucius's eyebrow rose sharply, his expression intrigued. "Oh, who could have imagined _this_?" His eyes flashes from the red head, crumpled and ready to collapse, and then back again to Harry, who was holding Hermione against him. He was whispering words to her, but all she did was nod. Lucius's interest peaked immediately. Obviously, the ties that bound the irritating trio had broken and transformed themselves in the short amount of time since he last encountered them. It was apparent from their body language, he noted.

"Well, I'll say. This is nothing short of surprising. I think a congratulations is in order. Draco, show Mr. Weasley here to one of the guest rooms. He looks like he's going to keel over with just a swish of a wand. We can't let the man of the hour pass out on muddy carpet. Hurry, Draco, we have to accommodate our honored guest."

Draco pulled Ron from group, with some force, and the two young wizards left the scene. Draco was silent as he swiftly stepped in front of the catatonic school mate he never liked. The shuffling of Ron's probably immensely inexpensive shoes were the only indication that the traitor hadn't run off and tried to escape.

_Good, he won't be another body floating in the stream_._ Not yet._

* * *

They weren't far from the formal living room when they heard her first screams.

"Aunt Bellatrix has heard the good news, it seems," Draco commented. "And she's celebrating."

Draco was taken back by the volume of Granger's screams, finding that the acoustics of his home were too fine tuned. It was not his first time hearing the sound of unfortunate souls being cursed, but knowing that it was Granger, that known-it-all girl with the answer to every problem, shook his foundations. In this war, everyone was a potential victim. There were no invisible cloaks to hide behind. No amount of gold could buy one's freedom or safety. He was just another hopeless case, but he was in a better state than the red-headed, red-handed wizard following him.

Ron heard the echoes of the screams, knowing it was all his fault. He didn't hold back as his emotions took control of his body and mind. He didn't care that Malfoy was near, ready to jump at the opportunity of hurling insult after insult. Strangely, the bitter blond was quiet. No one wanted to speak to the traitor, that was evident, not even the Slytherin scum that didn't deserve to be the dirt beneath his shoe.

"Don't mind the paintings. They'll shoot daggers at you, because it's their only way of looking intimidating. But you're the big, bad guy now, aren't you?" Draco finally said. The insults were itching to slip from his mouth. His steps were slowing. It would be only one turn of a corner now, and they'd arrive at the guest room.

The turn came and pass. They paused at the door. Seeing that Ron wasn't going to open it, Draco sighed and pushed the door open. He tried to keep the disgust from his tone as he pointed out the major features of the room. He pointed at the bed, saying it was probably the best the rat would ever sleep in, so he should enjoy it. Ron didn't reply. He just stood there, looking at the furniture, but not really seeing it.

Draco cleared his throat. "Well, I'll be off, now. I've got places to be. Ring the house elf if you need anything."

"Okay." Ron's reply was cold, dead.

Draco stood before Ron for a while, debating whether he would divulge in his curiosity or not. Deciding against it, feeling that knowing little was probably the best thing for him, he turned to leave.

Draco was facing the door, with his hand on the knob, when he finally decided again to ask the question that was burning in his mind. He slammed the door shut, and faced Ron again, and asked, "Why did you do it, Weasley?" He looked the wizard right in his pitiful eyes.

Ron stared back at the blond, and simply replied, "The Dark Lord and his minions would have terrorized my family, if I hadn't."

Draco scoffed, insisting that the Dark Lord had all their families living in terror, and that once again, the Weasleys weren't a special bunch. "After what you've done, there is no doubt in my mind that he will win. The terror will never end for all of us, because of you."

Ron was amazed. He was being patronized by the idiot that tried killing Albus Dumbledore _and_ was a Death Eater's son!

"I know what I did was wrong, but you can't blame the catastrophic end on me," he said, defending himself. The words he was hearing only implied one thing: he made the ultimate mistake, and now everyone was going to pay for it, even himself. His original plan of he and his family escaping harm by putting Harry and Hermione in the spotlight was squashed.

"You've been calling me a scumbag for years now, Weasley, did you know that? I find it so amusing that it is now my turn to use your own words against you. You are the lowest of the low, Weasley. You're ranked just below Pettigrew and Greyback, just because you ratted your friends out _and_ you're a Mudblood lover. What does it feel like, huh? Can you handle knowing you're a terrible person? Was the sacrifice you made really worth the price you're paying now?" Draco fed on Ron's inability to fight back, gaining strength and insult in his tone, relishing in the fact that between the two people in the room, he wasn't the baddest bad guy there. It was hard to top a Malfoy in bad behavior, but Weasley did, and he almost wanted to congratulate the dirtbag for his good, or rather, bad work.

"Stop egging me on, Malfoy! I don't have the energy or the patience to deal with you. Let me be. I can handle the guilt and self-loathing on my own, you know. Your service is no longer needed here." Ron turned towards the bed, wanting to be enveloped in its welcoming embrace. At the least the bed wouldn't fall away from him, as did the pieces of his former life.

"Some of us are born with this lifestyle. You, on the other hand, chose it. Now, really, please admit... out of the two of us in this room, who is the bigger scumbag? Me? Sure, I'm not the nicest wizard on the planet, but I can say that I didn't hand Potter over to the Dark Lord." Draco was not finished, not at all. He would pester the weasel until he was tired.

"I had no choice, please believe me! They were going to kill my family! What was I supposed to do? Hand over all their lives so that I could save my 'friends', the ones who've turned their back to me? I'm not a bad guy, not like you. I was just constrained, and I made the decision I felt was best for me." Ron's eyes were wild, pleading for Draco's acceptance of his excuse. Draco had finally broken Ron's control over his thoughts, even without magic. The red-headed wizard exploded, letting excuse after excuse flow from his tongue like liquid from a waterfall.

Draco thought it over, and then calmly replied, "Well, despite whatever heroic gesture you were trying to make, your efforts are all for naught. No one survives the Dark Lord's wrath. Trust me, I know. You're only going to lose your family anyways, after this. He doesn't tolerate Mudblood lovers. He might keep you around, but only if you're useful. Otherwise, he'll AK you in a heartbeat, that is if he still has a heart. I've heard that he's just full of fragments of his soul now. Is this true? Is he really a shell?"

Ron didn't feel the need to continue this conversation, so he asked Draco to leave as politely as possible. The blond had a foot out the door when he turned his head over his shoulder and decided to say the one thing that would send a flaming arrow right through Weasley's chest.

"Did you hear Granger scream? It was the most painful shriek I've heard come from these walls, and it was only the beginning, too."

Ron threw a vase at the wall near Draco's head. The message was clear, but Draco wasn't going to back down. He would have to repair the vase before his mother found out it was broken, though.

"She'll scream until she can't, and then they'll stop. But they'll only repair her somewhat and let her rest for a short time before they'll go again at another round of torture. Aunt Bellatrix's a bit demented that way. She loves seeing others in pain, makes her feel like she's one of the powers that be. But we all know who that is..."

He set out the bait and carefully waited for the Weasley fish to grab onto it.

"... Do you think they'll really kill her?" whispered Ron, his heart clenched in fear and guilt.

Draco replied quickly, throwing his hands around extravagantly. "There's no doubt about it. Like I've been saying for years, she's just a Mudblood. She may be a smart and talented one, but she's just a Mudblood. The only way her kind escapes the Dark Lord is through death. So maybe you made the right decision by letting her escape sooner rather than later."

Ron held his face in his hands, not caring that he tasted salt on his tongue. He let out a loud muffled howl, before he cried out, "_What have I done?!_"

"Don't ask me, Weasley. You're the traitor. I'm just a hopeless victim of my family's long-withstanding beliefs. At least I didn't betray my friends. And here I thought you Gryffindor lot stood up for courage and loyalty and all that sugar-coated bullshit? Actions really do speak louder than words, huh?"

"Why don't you just leave?!" Ron shouted. Malfoy was like the materialistic version of his conscience as of right now. Everything that came out of Malfoy's mouth was the sad truth, and he wished he could face it.

Draco's response was solemn. "Because I can't ... You're the first person outside of the Death Eater circle that I've encountered in the last few months. I can't speak with the prisoners without one of the house elves telling Father, and he's had me on a short leash since my screw up. He thinks I'll do something as stupid like free them. I'm just a wizard, but even wizards need something other than animated objects like charmed mirrors and haunted paintings to talk to."

Ron's head shot up from his arms, when he heard a few words of Malfoy's plea for conversation. "... Do you think I'll be able to, then?"

"Do what? Talk to mirrors? Of course you can, but then you'd be as loony as that Lovegood we've got trapped with the others." Draco was standing against the wall beside the door now. He wished he had a smarter person, or rather a less emotional wreck, to talk to, but this was good enough.

"No, I meant to the prisoners. Can I go down there?"

Draco signed. "It's your life, Weasley. You can do whatever you want. That is, everything except leave. I highly doubt you'll escape this Manor alive anyways. There are too many traps, as well as deadly creatures in the stretch from this mansion and the front gates, and disapparating isn't possibly in some rooms of this mansion, like this room for example. People come here alive, but they never leave in the same condition. You'll just be another body in the stream in a few days, trust me. I'd be dead too, but the only thing protecting me is my father, and even he is not enough when it comes to the Dark Lord. Good luck. If you wake tomorrow, then they've done you a favor and spared you. I'd watch out for your neck, if I were you. You're only alive as long as you're useful. That's the rule of thumb around here."

The room was silent as Ron pondered over Draco's words. He could go down there and see Harry and Hermione, and apologize till his tongue fell off. Draco hissed from the other side of the room, clutching one of his long-sleeve covered arms. "I must go. I think he is calling us. He's been informed of the good news. Get ready for an eventful day tomorrow, that is, if you're even alive to witness it."

Draco whisked out of the room, closing the door firmly, before running towards his father's library. He couldn't be late for the meeting. Weasley's neck wasn't the only neck that was in risk of getting slit around here.

Meanwhile, back in the lavish room, Ron slipped between the rich bedding, trying to find sleep with his muddled thoughts. He couldn't imagine the way she probably looked now, but he could hear her screams, even now. The cacophony was echoing in his ears, blaring in his memory. He couldn't stand it. He pulled at his hair, threw the pillows around him, smashed another vase or two, and even ripped the curtains off the only window in the room. What he saw frightened him. Where there should have been a window with a view of the land that surrounded the mansion was a different sight, a terrifying sight.

The windows were blocked by a brick wall, bright red in its design, sending the clear message that there was no way out.

_You can do whatever you want, that is, everything except leave._

Ron screamed even louder, ripping the pillows apart, letting feathers fly in the air and fall.

He was just as much a prisoner as Harry and Hermione, and there was no way out.

He was betrayed by the trackers, the Death Eaters, by Lucius Malfoy. He wasn't a honored guest; he was a dying one.

His screams finally made their way down to whimpers, and eventually he stopped altogether.

He needed to find a way out, to save Harry and Hermione, as well as himself, to make things right again.

He would, even if it killed him.

Even if Lord Voldemort killed him.

* * *

Harry watched Ron being drawn away by Malfoy, and felt strange bitterness. Even now, he was getting the easy way out. How come it was always he and Hermione that suffered for Ron's mistakes?

He shook the traitor from his thoughts, and focused them instead on the girl that felt like dead weight at his side. The Death Eaters had formed a circle, discussing important issues, while Narcissa watched them like a hawk. It wasn't long before another Death Eater joined the party. The crazy, wild, maniacal long black hair and black eyes belonged none other than to Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Lord's favorite female, or so she thought.

"Ahh! So we meet again, Potter!" she exclaimed, laughing a laugh that would have silenced wind chimes in a storm.

"Bellatrix, you've finally joined us. You've missed out on the most surprising twist to the story, my dear!" Lucius said out loud.

"I don't care for the details, Lucius. We've finally got ahold of the only thing we've wanted these past few months, and I hope you make sure that he does not slip away so easily, as he has done in the past," she boldly stated to the elder blond, who beat her in height but not in intimidation. The witch grew in height with every shrill tone of her voice.

"I will make sure of this, Bella," a voice chimed in. Narcissus stepped forward.

"Good, good. Cissy, the joyful day has finally come! We have Potter in our hands! The Dark Lord will be so pleased! We've caught Potter!"

A hiss filled the room. Greyback, who was standing back with Scabior as the Death Eaters were in a forum, was obviously perturbed by the evil witch's statement.

"Excuse me, mutt? Did you have something to say?" Her tone could not be more condescending. She sashayed towards the werewolf and looked up at him, a smile mocking him.

"_We _found Potter. _We _delivered him to _you_. _We _deserve the credit!" he snarled, flashing his teeth.

"And so you do. Lucius, give me some gold. We need to reward our honorable trackers, the best Snatchers we've ever employed." Lucius produced a bag of gold from his robe pocket and threw it at Bellatrix, who caught it deftly in one hand. "Here's your reward. You may leave now."

Greyback snarled again, letting his wolf form take control. "We don't want your silly gold. Gold means nothing in the market today. You can't buy toilet paper with this stuff anymore, now with the way your lot has monopolized the resources and the goods!"

"Oh, is this a matter of politics, Mr. Greyback?" Bellatrix asked, juggling the pouch of old in her hands.

"No! This is a matter of giving credit where it is rightfully due!" he howled. Bellatrix was unfazed by the attempt of intimidation.

"Okay, whatever you say, Mr. Greyback," she whispered, wand ready to send a killing curse his way.

The spell was about to jump from her wand when Lucius stopped her, saying that the trackers found some suspicious objects in the tent the Trio were inhabiting, that they may have belonged to the Dark Lord.

"What things?" she asked, eyes wide. Surely, these rascals didn't know of the horcruxes?

"A sword, marked by the name of Gryffindor, among other things," Lucius replied.

"Where are these... things?" Bellatrix demanded.

"They are right here, but it seems... their collection is not quite complete," noted the elder Malfoy.

Harry watched the two discuss the matters at hand, but paid attention to Hermione as well. She was gathering her strength now, and was speaking. Her words were jumbled, but he knew what she was trying to say.

"Hermione, listen to me," he whispered to her, making her look at his face. "I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. If they hurt you, they hurt me. I don't care about what they'll do to me. I've faced death several times in my life, and yet I've survived each and every time. Don't worry about me."

"But they've found our things," she said.

"We'll get them back, somehow. But we need to think about how we'll get away from this, first. Think, help me think. I'm coming up with blanks right now."

"I don't know, Harry. I don't know," she whispered over and over again. She lifted a hand, slid it down his face. Harry fought the temptation to close his eyes and lean into her touch. He couldn't let the enemy see how much she affected him. If he did, they'd target her, to get to him.

The caress didn't go unnoticed. While Bellatrix was discussing issues at hand with Lucius, she let her eyes wander for a second. She saw the way Potter clenched his fists at his side, the way his face was fixed between an expression of pleasure and of internal conflict, saw the way he almost leaned into her touch, like he would to his lover. The cogs turned in Bellatrix's mind, and it was clear enough to see what was going to happen next.

"_YOU TWO!_" she shrieked, pointing a finger at the couple she caught in a lover's caress. She walked away from Lucius, who was left hanging mid-sentence. "You know what's going on with these objects, these special artifacts, the best. You stole these things, or at least some of these things, from our vaults. I know, because I'm the one who put them there!"

Harry held onto Hermione tighter, fearing for her safety.

Bellatrix's eyes fell on the brown haired witch. She motioned to two Death Eaters to grab her, and they did. Harry tried to pull her back, but he was pulled back instead, his arms caught behind him. Lucius had Harry in a tight hold, and he wasn't letting go, despite Harry's attempts at squirming out of his control.

"Tell me, girl, where did you get these artifacts?" Bellatrix waved her wand in front of Hermione's face, feeling victorious as she saw the witch follow the tip as it moved her bangs to one side, touched the tip of her nose, and then dragged down her neck. Bellatrix grabbed ahold of Hermione and angled her wand just so, letting her eyes look as striking as possible.

"I said, tell me! Where did you find these objects?"

Hermione, wide-eyed, couldn't hold it back. "I wouldn't tell you, Bellatrix, even if I was on my last breath."

The crazy witch smiled, her rotten yellow teeth shining, and said, "That can be arranged, my dear."

The first Crucio went through her body like a shock, like an electrocution multiplied tenfold. The flame of pain reached every nerve in her body, and she wanted to fall right then and there, but she stood her ground. She still wailed as the dark curse took over her, but she stood her ground. Seeing this, Bellatrix waved her wand and sent her a second and third Crucio, one right after the other, not letting the girl recover. This was enough to send her to the ground.

Harry cried out for Hermione, pulling and shoving away from the elder Malfoy. "Let me go! Stop that, Bellatrix! Stop hurting her! She doesn't know!"

Bellatrix turned on Harry, never letting her wand leave Hermione's sight. She turned her head, and asked, "Does she really? Oh, we've only just begun, Potter. She'll be broken beyond repair before the night is done!" The malicious smirk was enough to send Harry over the edge.

_Crucio. Scream. Crucio. Shriek. Crucio. Whimper_

The spells came one after another. The reflection of green sparks upon Harry's glasses were magnificent in their deadly aim. Slowly and slowly, Hermione's responses were becoming less louder, less bone-shocking. She was getting tired, and was gravely injured.

"Harry! Harry, please!" Hermione managed to cry out as she laid on the floor in the fetal position. She held her legs, which shook involuntarily, still feeling the effects of the first dozen or so spells. She was surprised she was still alive, that she was still able to call out Harry's name.

"Let her go! Please! I'm begging you!" Harry couldn't watch this anymore. The contents of his stomach flew upwards, and there was an insistent burning in his throat. He could smell the magic in the air, the dark magic, the bittersweet residue of hatred and pain, combined into one.

"Potter, if I hear another protest come out of your mouth, I will only up the dosage with every spell," Bellatrix chirped, twirling her wand. She loved the shock in Potter's eyes, knowing she had control of both he and the pitiful Mudblood on the ground. The girl was starting to bleed. The girl was stronger than she first assessed because by now, most victims were either unconscious or dead, but this girl was hanging on, by a strand though. Bellatrix would cut that strand soon, any spell now, and it would devastate Potter, which was the whole point of this charade. Punishing a Mudblood for her existence was just a bonus. The power coursed through Bellatrix's veins. She wondered if this was how the great Dark Lord felt when he was inflicting harm upon others. She grinned on the inside, happy to know she had something else in common with the Dark Lord.

_Crucio_. The girl's body twitched, and there was a slight breaking sound. Bellatrix caught the sound, as well as Harry, as well as Draco, who had just walked into the room. Potter exploded, sending curse words and threats towards Bellatrix's direction. Draco stood frozen on the spot. He was just done irritating Weasley when he walked into the room. He knew he should've went to his own room. He would've avoided this scene.

"Draco, my boy, come here! Look at this sight! It's your school mate, Hermione Granger. Do you recognize her?" chimed Bellatrix, pulling Draco to the center of the room, to the body on the ground.

Draco looked at his aunt, his mind racing with thoughts about his insane relative. "I can't say, Aunt Bellatrix," he said quietly.

"Ah yes, yes, I know. She's all muddy and bloody and sticking out at all different angles, but it is her! Come, boy, take a closer look!" Bellatrix practically threw Draco over Hermione's body. He cringed when he saw her head turn, saw those slightly gone eyes, saw the blood bleeding profusely on the carpet he used to play with his toys on. He recoiled back, afraid and disgusted.

"I know she's not very good-looking now, but that was never important to you, right? Your father and mother told me how she was the bane of your existence at Hogwarts. They told me she somehow ranked higher than you in all your classes, all your O.W.L.S. You hated her, didn't you? You hated that smart little Mudblood who took what you deserved to have! Hate her again, and even more, if you can, my dear! Show her how much you hate her! Do it!"

"I..I can't," he stuttered, feeling the pressure of her fingers on his shoulder. They dug into the meat of his shoulder, her nails piercing his skin, leaving red marks. He shrugged away from her touch, and flew to his parents' side.

Bellatrix was flying high at this point. Her happiness sent her into a state of delirium. The colors swirled before her eyes, and she could barely make out what was going on in the room. The other Death Eaters had left, seeing that they weren't needed, and also fearing for their lives. Lucius and Narcissa stayed around, to make sure that Bellatrix didn't go too overboard. They still needed the girl to give information. If her voice box was broken, then there was no point in Bellatrix torturing her anymore.

Bellatrix twirled around, feeling the revenge she wanted to have on the poor girl finally feel finally become a reality. She dreamed of this opportunity for months now, but she didn't expect it to actually happen. She was playing out her plan of revenge, for everything the Mudblood had done to her in the past.

"Draco, come. Please, I beg of you. I don't want to celebrate alone!" She turned towards the blond boy, cooing at him, but he stayed at his mother's side. She sneered. He always was a momma's boy. Pathetic.

Why wouldn't Draco join her in her celebration? He would conflict so much pain on the girl. He hated the girl. Hate was the key to the Crucio. If the hate was enough, then the spell was incredibly powerful. But perhaps, hate for the simply reason of having to use the spell on someone would cause the most powerful spell of all. She turned to Harry, who was being held back my Lucius, who seemed to be having trouble holding the young wizard back.

"No, I have a better idea! Why doesn't _Harry_ do the job? He hasn't done anything but yelp and whimper this entire time. Come, Lucius, bring him over here and make him do it," demanded Bellatrix.

"_NO!_" The objection was clear and concise. Harry would never curse Hermione, especially with dark magic.

Lucius, seeing that the situation was running out of control, let go of Potter and stopped the crazy witch. He forced her wand away, which led to mind-numbing shrieks of protest that made a glass sculpture in the room actually shatter into a million little pieces.

"That's enough, Bellatrix! That's enough! You must leave something for the Dark Lord," he reasoned, calming her.

Harry rushed to Hermione's side, his eyes and hands examining her injuries. It was obvious that the angles of her body were different, that a leg was twisted the wrong way, that an arm was not set in its proper place. Seeing her deformed shape sent a thousand sharp machetes to his system.

He took her head carefully in his palms, and turned it slowly, so he could see her face. Internal bruises marred her complexion. Blood trickled down her brow bone. Her lips were chapped, and her breathing erratic. Her hair was a mess in his hands, brittle and charred. However, her eyes, her chocolate brown eyes still alive, even just a little. He could tell she was still with him, just a little. She could probably see a blurry version of his face. He hoped her auditory senses weren't as damaged as the rest of her.

"Hermione, listen to me. I want you to keep breathing. Can you do that for me, baby?" he whispered, never letting her eyes roll to the back of her head. He shook her gently, made sure she was still awake.

"Harry?" she whispered, her voice cracking. Her eyes turned towards his, recognizing the shape of his face, the contours of his cheek, the glare of his glasses.

"Yes, I'm here. Can you feel me here, with you?"

"Yes." She tried to smile, but her nerves weren't the same. He saw her twitch the corner of her lips, but it was enough. She was still working, though not as efficiently as she was before Bellatrix started playing her game.

"Listen. I know I've asked for too much from you. You've given up everything, even your family and your health, for me. Just please, one last request. Just keep breathing, and I'll get you away from these people. I'll save you, like I always do. I promise."

Harry pleaded for her to understand, shook her gently when he saw her start to collapse within herself. His hand flew to her heart, searching for a beat. It was faint, but it existed.

"What about you, Harry?" Even in her pain, she thought only of him. If his heart wasn't already in pieces over her hurting for him, it would've fell apart right there and then. Tears filled his eyes, replacing those that fell in his anger while he watched helplessly, constrained against the Death Eater's grasp.

"Forget about me. I'm still okay. You aren't. We need to fix you first," he reasoned. She was such a stubborn girl when it came to her needs.

"I've taken more spells than I thought I could. I'm resilient, like a rubber band. I'll jump back. I'm still alive," she assured him.

"Thank, Merlin," he cried, letting his lips fall against hers in a desperate, chaste kiss.

Hermione stirred, moaning in pain as he pressed too much pressure onto her. He flew off her immediately, but still stayed close.

"It was never about me, Harry, silly boy." Hermione laughed, but it sounded more like wheezing to Harry. "I'm not who they want. They want _you_. They're only using me to get to you. Don't let them get to you."

"It's too late, Hermione. They got to me the minute Bellatrix sent that first curse."

Harry felt someone pull him back. He squirmed against the force, but he was stunned by magic and then mishandled. His vision was taken away, and he was led through a maze, it seemed. When his vision was given back, he was dumped in a dungeon cell.

He shouted out loud, letting everything he was feeling be released in a single bout of true fury. He shouted until his voice cracked, until his throat was parched by his thirst and his hollering. He shouted out her name, cries for help, anything. He cursed Ron, the Malfoys, Bellatrix, the Dark Lord, Greyback, Scabior, and Ron again.

By the time he was done, he was the one wheezing. His anger turned into depression and then swiftly into exhaustion. He tried to fight his drooping eyes, but he had just witnessed the young woman close to his heart being nearly killed and he was on the sidelines, as useful as Ron at anything he did in life. He stared at the moon, a sliver of it showing through the tiny window that distinguished the cell, and prayed to gods he didn't believe in before, all of them. He prayed for Hermione's protection, for the strength to keep going on, and for the opportunity to wake up and see another sun, after the day that was to come. He fell asleep, dreaming of that same ocean, the same girl, the same terror.

* * *

The dream was short, but not sweet. He was treading in the same dark waters, but there was no storm. The sky was actually a clear, bright blue. There were no clouds in his sky, no sharks in his vicinity, or any sign of Voldemort. This was strange. This was unfamiliar. This was just a dream.

Where was Hermione?

"You never actually said the words to me, Harry." He could hear her, but he couldn't see her.

"What words? Where are you?" He twirled in the water, waving his hands and kicking his feet. The small waves moved him side to side. He heard the caw of a bird, but the sky was clear.

"The ones that were on the tip of your tongue, when you looked at me tonight. I would've said them too, but you didn't say them first. I may be a tough, modern-day girl, but I'd rather like to hear the words come out of your mouth."

Her voice was coming closer, or was she? There was no sign of her yet.

"I'll never let you go? I won't let them take you away from me? I'll die before I give you up?" Harry was being honest. These were the words he wanted to say to her, but someone had pulled him from her before he had the chance.

"Silly Harry. I know all of that. Tell me something I don't know." Her voice was practically right next to her ear, but she was still nowhere in sight.

"I wish you held me like you wanted," she sighed.

"I wanted to, but when I put just a tiny pit of pressure on you, you moaned. You were so broken. I was trying not to freak out just by the way you looked, but I failed miserably. I never want your body to be angled that way ever again."

"You think you're such an expert about the angles of my body? Just because I let you in my knickers, it doesn't make you an expert on me," she teased. Harry laughed, realizing he hadn't done that in a while. The sky brightened a little more.

"Why can't I see you?" he asked the sky. He didn't know where else to direct his voice.

"Because you're dreaming. Because I'm not there, next to you. Because of a lot of things, Harry. I'm off somewhere else, somewhere only we know, letting my mind heal while those filthy bastards are repairing as little as possible of my body."

"Let them fix you. So I can find you and get us out of here. I'm in a dank cell right now."

"I know. I'm in one too, but it's in a different part of the mansion."

"Will you stay safe for me? Keep breathing for me?"

"Always, for you, Harry. But let's not talk of those things. We're in your dreams. Think of good things. It's the only time you can escape your life."

"I'm thinking of you," Harry said. He brought one of his hands out of the water, resting it against the sky.

"And I, you." He felt the heat of the sun on his face. It was a pleasant feeling, like her touch.

"Why do I keep dreaming of oceans? I've never seen an ocean in my life, but here I am, almost every night. Is there some sort of significance to that?"

"Oceans are places where there are no endings. Oceans go on, to the horizon and beyond the horizon. They're where you're completely stripped of your shields, walls, and defense mechanisms. You're only swimming, surviving, existing. You face so many dangers in oceans, from the depths of the unknown, from the monsters you imagine in your mind, from the storms of conflicts that mar your real life. The ocean is the appropriate metaphor, don't you think? There is no beginning, there is no ending. There is only the middle ground, the balance between being born and dying -- just living. Plus, in your dreams, you can make me look like anything you want. You can enhance my body parts, my pleasures, and even your ego. You're the super hero in your dreams, even if you're the super anti-hero in reality."

The explanation was clear enough.

"I wish I could hold you," he sighed. He was floating on his back now, staring at the same bright blue sky.

"Hold me, then, love. Hold me, till the very end," she murmured. He felt the ghost of her touch on his biceps, a slight pressure on his jaw, and the familiar shape of her body against his. And yet, she wasn't there.

"I love you." The words escaped from his lips without caution. He felt no shame, no embarrassment, no guilt, no second thoughts. He was just there, floating, existing, loving her like he wanted.

"Ah, there you go. The perfect remedy to the dangers we're facing. Three words, eight letters, defines forever. Here's something that Voldemort doesn't have, Harry. You have me. You have my everything. You are my everything. I know it sounds sappy and incredibly silly, but it's true."

"When will this dream end, Hermione? Because I don't want it to." He saw a hint of change in the sky. The bright blue was turning gray.

"Soon."

"I can tell."

"It's okay, Harry. I'll always be here for you, tucked away in the corner of your mind, hiding in the corner of your heart. If you need to escape, you have me."

"I'll fight for you. I'll keep fighting for you. Just stay alive long enough to let me fight for you," he said to the invisible girl of his dreams. He closed his eyes, imagined her face, her smile. It was like she was laying right next to him.

"Do you see the skies changing rapidly? See those clouds, those rain drops threatening to fall? Falling now? This signals the end. Think of me, baby. Think only of me, and I'll come back to you."

"Harry."

"Yes, Hermione?"

"No, Harry."

"Hermione?"

"No, Harry. It's Ron."

* * *

His eyes shot open at the first mention of the name.

It was like having a nightmare after a good dream, except he was stuck in reality again.

He knew that flaming red hair, those traitorous eyes, and those bloody freckles.

"I want to make things right again, Harry."


	17. Part XVII

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **In my dreams, I own Harry Potter, as well as Draco Malfoy, and I think of them doing very non-PG-13 things. With me, that is. Woops, cat's out of the bag, Tinsa is a freak. But I don't own Ron though. He's sort of like a tubby little useless paper weight that I like to throw in the back of my desk drawer. He prefers the darkness, or so I like to think.

**Author's Note:**

Thank you for the wonderful reviews. I'm so glad to see more review alerts than story alerts or author alerts whenever I post up a chapter for this story, compared to other stories. I hate it when I see the high number of readers but I see such a low number of reviews. shakes fists at Twilight readers

So anyways... Ron's on his way to redemption, though it is a far and winding road. Harry's ready to pounce on Ron, and not in a happy, sexual way either (ugh, gross. sounds like the worst rape that Harry can be subjected to)... and Hermione to gets have her own dreams. And Draco's helping the Trio, on his own conditions. Wait and see! 8)

Not too much sexy time in this chapter, but I promise it is in the very near future; like next chapter, heyyy! Just a lot of plot, which I may note is different from the canon. This is me pulling away from JKR, but not completely. Just enough to make it more realistic.

And lastly...

**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!**

* * *

"There is a way to be good again."

**The Kite Runner**

* * *

Nothing unusual nothing's changed

Just a little older that's all

.

You know when you've found it; there's something I've learned

'cause you feel it when they take it away

.

Then something unusual something strange

comes from nothing at all

.

But I'm not a miracle and you're not a saint

just another soldier on a road to nowhere

**Damien Rice -- Amie**

* * *

In my life I don't mean much to anyone.

I've lost my way; can't go back anymore.

Once I had everything now it's gone.

Don't tell me again cuz I've heard it all before.

.

Some people say that I'm not worth it.

I've made mistakes but nobody's perfect.

Guess I'll give it a try.

.

The time has come for me to change again.

I can't carry on like this, I will lose my friends;

Don't say that you have given up on me.

Just give me the time and space to heal my head.

**James Morrison -- **_One Last Chance_

* * *

**PART XVII**

Ron was done demolishing the bedroom that had become his own personal prison. He was pulling at ties and ends in his mind, trying to find a solution to the predicament that he placed himself, as well as Harry and Hermione, in, but his mind was drawing blanks every time he was on the verge on something plausible.

He was done feeling sorry for himself, for his stupidity. It was time to rise up and take a stand, to play the hero for the day. He had to save his friends, if he was allowed to call them that now anyways, for the sake of his conscience as well as their lives. He knew that the decision he made for all of them had its repercussions, but he never expected them to be this hazardous. He was done being played by the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. He would not be another pawn, not again, and especially not under the tyrant that was ruining everyone's lives. He was ready to have his own page in the history books, void of Harry's name overshadowing his, of the crimson red mark of traitor, of it all.

_But how?_

"How will I climb out of this grave that I've dug up for all of us?" he asked himself, bashing his head softly against his knees, which he held as he sat on the rich rug that lay on the ground near the lavish bed and warm fireplace that was feeding the only warmth he could feel in his body at the moment.

Maybe he could alert someone from the Order, to inform them that they were all captured at the Malfoy Manor, the Headquarters for the Death Eaters' organization. There was a slight flaw in this optimistic plan though. He couldn't leave the mansion, without dying, which many people probably wanted for him. His death would mean nothing but another problem to add to the check list of worries that was growing by length every minute or so this War was taking up. If anything, he would fight to keep his friends alive, and if he should happen to die in the struggle, then perhaps he could be redeemed. _Maybe_.

The mark of a traitor is an invisible one. To the traitor, the crime plays on, like a scene from a Muggle movie. The blood of stolen lives never washes off, even if he drenched himself in acid. The blood isn't real, but it's a paint that doesn't come off, only visible to the one that shed it with intention. It was a burden that could not be lifted, like the world weighing down on the shoulders of Atlas. It was a burden that he brought upon himself in a moment of weakness, and the consequences of the moment lived on for him.

"Death is the only escape for a traitor, but even in death, he cannot sleep peacefully," Ron whispered, as the thought crushed his mind. He could feel the onset of a terrible headache, a migraine with the worst intentions, but he needed to keep thinking.

His fingers automatically grabbed something in his pants' pocket, fumbling with the object that Dumbledore left him with. He stared at the orb, wondering what magic it held. It led him back to Harry and Hermione, lighting the way even under the darkest skies and coldest nights. He tossed it over and over in his hands, like a Snitch, inspecting it with curiosity. He applied some pressure to its sides, and suddenly, the lights went out.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed, dropping the orb on the ground as he stared into the darkness that filled the already terrifying room. The bedroom was pitch dark, as if all the light was squashed and hidden away, and into this little orb that glowed like a star on the ground. He dropped to his knees, picked up the orb, and applied pressure to it once again.

The lights came back on, and the orb returned to its normal color, exuding no light.

"Interesting," he said, bringing the orb to the level of his eyes.

The cogs and wheels of Ron's already tired mind started turning.

"Why didn't I think of this all along?" he shouted to himself.

He made his way towards the door, but stopped as soon as he heard the familiar jiggle of the door knob turning on its own accord. He stood back, stuffing the orb back in his pants pocket, and waited for the intruder.

He held his breath, but quickly let it go when he realized who was paying him a visit.

"Weasley, what did you do?" Draco demanded, as he shut the door behind him. The blonde wizard was distressed, as was obvious by his physical appearance. His shapely eyebrows were knitted, forming an exasperated expression that was foreign to the usually calm face.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked innocently, hoping that Malfoy wouldn't ask about the lights going out.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. The mansion was dark for almost three minutes, and don't think that my father and the others didn't notice."

"Maybe your Aunt Bellatrix was triggering too much magic in the air, and the lights just poofed out," Ron suggested, ignoring the burning orb that lay hidden in his pockets.

"Yeah, and I'm secretly in love with the Mudblood because she made me drink a love potion," Draco said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "If you did something, powerful wandless magic maybe, then you better keep it to yourself. If the others hear of this, you may just become another asset to our team, and trust me on this, _**you do not want to become allies with Death Eaters**_."

"Thanks for the warning, but I think I understand what you're trying to say, way before you barged in here. I may be a bit slower than Hermione and Harry, but I'm pretty competent for the basic information," Ron snarled.

"I don't know why I'm even here, helping you. I should just walk out of here and let you dissolve into tears like a Hufflepuff. You know what? I think I'll just do that!" Draco turned towards the door, waiting for the words that would bring him back.

"Malfoy, wait!"

"Oh, so now you want my help?" Draco crossed his arms, looking tersely at the disheveled redhead.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. And take it into account that it bloody burns to even spit out those words. The day I apologize to a Death Eater..." Ron's words faded as he looked away.

"I wanted to tell you that Aunt Bellatrix is done playing with Granger. My father had the house elves carry her to a separate room in another part of the mansion, away from the dungeons. They blinded Potter and took him to the area where my father likes to keep the rest of the ordinary prisoners. To show him a little humility, he says. You might know a few of the prisoners. Luna Lovegood, that old kook that gave us our wands, and some other creatures I'd rather not mention," Draco said, informing Ron of what he had missed out on while he was busy breaking down.

"Is she ... hurt?" Ron whispered, terrified of what Malfoy would say. _Please let her be alive. Please, I'll do anything, please let her be alive_.

"She's ... unwell. Aunt Bellatrix went too far, but from what I saw, Granger was still able to converse with Potter, that is, before they were separated. What are you going to do about this, Weasley?" Draco stared at the redhead, seeing the anguish in his face as he learned the news of his friends' well-beings.

"I don't know what to do," Ron admitted.

"There's a reason why you were never the hero in your little trio, Weasley. And this is why. You can't come up with a simple plan to save your friends, but you can stay locked up in this room, crying for your Mum like a little child." Draco was feeling less empathy for the Gryffindor with each second of this conversation that they shouldn't have been having in the first place. Draco didn't know why he was telling the Weasel all this.

"It's difficult," Ron lamely replied.

"Difficult?" Draco started, sneering with malice at this pathetic excuse of a Gryffindor. Ron stared at him, doe-eyed and completely not ready for the scolding that was about to happen.

"You know what's difficult, Weasley? Being asked by your relative to look upon a school mate of yours, no matter how much you claim to hate her, and to know that you are too weak to look her in the eyes as she lays broken and bruised and bleeding on your carpet. Knowing that if we were in reverse positions, she'd have the balls to look me straight in the eyes and offer a helping hand, even though I have done nothing in our history to deserve it. And what's even worse, being asked to _hurt_ her, because you've claimed all these years that she was the one thing that made your life a living hell, when in all honesty, she really was just an innocent victim to your cowardice and tendency to blame others for what you lacked in strength and courage within yourself. I am a coward, I admit it, Weasley, but I'm changing. Why do you keep refusing to see the truth in yourself? I'm risking my neck for you lot, just by being here, informing you of what's going on. I don't even like you people, but I'm staking my life just for the chance that you all escape. I don't have that luxury, Weasley." Draco was furious in his moment of reprimanding.

"Why?" Ron whispered, seeing his once former school enemy in a different light, in a more compassionate, more human light. The change was subtle, but their relationship was shifting, from one of rivalry, to one of understanding and even association.

"Because my life is already forfeited. I am just a dead wizard walking. The Dark Lord doesn't care if I live or die in the battles we fight. Frankly, he would like it if I was finally thrown away, like the trash that he associates with the Malfoy name. Then my father would truly understand the consequences of his continuous failures. But back to the point at hand, what am I doing here, helping you? I'm not doing this for you, or Potter, or Granger. I'm doing this for my mother, to give her a chance to flee. If Potter and Granger escape, then they can help defeat the Dark Lord, then my mum has a chance of living freely, or something akin to it, of the oppression that my father brought upon our family, with his loyalty, or lack there of, of the not so Pureblooded, half-crazed menace to our society. My father is to blame for our lifestyle, but my mother is just another victim in the fray, just like your lovely little Mudblood girlfriend."

"Don't call her that!" Ron's anger was growing again. Though Malfoy was somewhat sincere in his explanation, his choice of words still stung.

"Don't call her what? Your girlfriend? Oh, that's right. She's Potter's girlfriend now," Draco childishly taunted, feeling the need to serve some cruel intentions with his overly out of character declaration of compassion. He would snap Weasley's neck if he made a joke about his desire to give his mother a life she never had. It was true, but it was to Weasley's discretion about how much of it he really believed.

"Where is Hermione? Tell me where she is!" Ron demanded, fishing for his wand.

"I can't tell you that, because frankly I don't know. But I can tell you where Potter is," Draco offered, glancing at his manicured fingernails as the Weasley hopped around like a buffoon.

"Where is Harry, then?" Ron didn't want to face Harry, but he knew he had to, to fix this.

"I'll lead you to where the dungeon is, but I won't step anywhere close to it. Once you're there, you're on your own. I never came here, never informed you of what has occurred, and you are responsible for what will happen to you, if it so happens that a Death Eater or my father or heaven forbid, Aunt Bellatrix, finds you there," Draco warned. Ron nodded.

"Let's go. Get your wand out. You might need it," Draco muttered, finally turning and opening the door. He left it open as he waited for the redhead.

"Hurry up. We don't have much time."

Draco started walking away, but Ron easily caught up to him, with his long strides.

"Thank you, Malfoy."

The apology dissolved into the air, clinging to particles that floated above their heads, but it didn't disappear.

The Death Eater just chose to ignore it.

He didn't know if this was going to work, so he would not accept the words of gratitude.

They were both running on desperation at this point.

Hopefully, no one would catch them.

* * *

Draco led Ron in what seemed like a maze of twists and turns, but he never lost sight of the platinum blonde hair that flashed like lightning in the dark hallways of a dark mansion. They ran past disapproving paintings, capturing the gathering dust in a whirlwind of motion, in their swift pace.

"Are we there yet?" Ron asked, slightly wheezing.

"Almost, don't lag behind."

They slipped from dark corner to dark corner, avoiding shadows that they assumed were following them, until Draco spontaneously halted, not warning Ron, who slammed into his wiry back and fell on the ground.

"Get up, we don't have much time."

"A bloody hand would be nice," Ron huffed, as he pulled himself from the dirty ground. A strange scent filled the air wherever they were, which stank of urine and rotten food.

"I'm not going any further. Just take these steps down to the dungeons and talk to Potter. I'll stay here and stand guard. If someone comes, I'll throw a rock down the steps or something to warn you. Now, go! Go form a plan with Potter and get out as soon as possible," Draco advised, looking fearfully for a shadow in the near distant hallway.

"Thank you, Malfoy," Ron quickly uttered before rushing down the steps to the unkempt environment that now housed his friends and allies.

Ron paused at every cell, looking out for the tell-tale signs of raven black hair, a scar, and glasses. He didn't have to look far. He called out Harry's name, but the sleeping wizard only mumbled as he lay sprawled across the disgusting ground.

"Hermione," Harry whispered, in what seemed a loving way. Ron decided to ignore the heart string being tugged by the innocent action, and corrected him, saying, "No, it's me, Ron."

Harry's eye twitched at the mention of the name, but they shot open with the following words. "I want to make things right again, Harry." He was dazed by the sudden influx of dim light, but once his vision adjusted, he flew to the bars that held him captive in the small alcove in the dungeon, fuming from the ears and ready to attack.

"I can't believe _you_ are here, you bloody traitor! If there wasn't iron separating us, you would cease to exist, and surely no one would miss you. Do you _want_ to add to the destruction that you've caused so far? There are ashes where there once was hope, and why? All because of you! You and your pathetic and laughable lack of will power!" Harry hollered in rage, squeezing the iron bars that held him up in his bout of fury. He was squeezing them painfully tight, to the point of drawing blood. Harry didn't have to mention Hermione's name -- he knew Ron was feeling bad enough about how she was being treated. He didn't want to remind himself either. His self-reserve was crumbling with every fleeting memory of her fragmented shape.

Ron shrunk back into himself, fearing the crazed look in his friend's eyes. He almost turned around and ran at the sight, but he stood his ground and said again, "I want to fix things, and I promise you, until the moment of my death, if need be, that I will find a way out of here."

Harry ignored Ron's plea for redemption and shouted at Ron, letting the terrorizing thoughts about his cowardice free, letting every curse word he knew slip from his tongue. He was completely out of control and the chills that ran through his body were slowly become slight tremors. In his tirade, the other prisoners were awakened from their own restless dream states and witnessed the event of the decade -- the last thread of a friendship threatening to snap, straining against the pressure of the past and their irrational, incontrollable human natures.

Ron waited for Harry to stop, but he didn't walk closer towards the cell. He feared that Harry would grab his neck and choke him until he was dead and useless.

"You fucking -- you idiot... _Hermione_!" roared Harry, who was tired from letting everything he felt off his chest.

"I know, I know! Don't you think I know all of this?!" Ron replied.

"Well, you better have." Harry was done, resigned. He slumped against the bars, letting out deep breaths as he glared at the traitor within foresight.

"I've been thinking about how to get us all out of here for hours, but I've come up with nothing spectacular. I was never the smart one..." Ron's words trailed behind as his mind flashed to the girl he hadn't seen in hours. Was she even still alive? He shook his head, not wanting to go down that path of thinking.

"They took away the pouch, when they dumped me here. It had all the stuff that they didn't take when we first apparated here. I don't even remember what was in there... except maybe for Hermione's wand," Harry provided, realizing that though it would feel nice to call Ron out even more on his stupidity, it would not save Hermione any faster.

"Then we have nothing?" Ron said, in disbelief. He rubbed his forehead, thinking that his mission got a thousand times more difficult than he originally thought.

"We have ... _you,_" Harry said, trying not to let his desire to sneer overtake his re-growing self-control.

"You could try to mask your feelings, Harry. I'm helpful," Ron said, in his defense.

"So how exactly are you going to get me out of here, Mr. Helpful?" mocked Harry, who wasn't in the position to have such a demeaning stance.

"I'm going to find those things that they stole from you. Will that be at all helpful?" Ron fired back. He stared at Harry, waiting for his reply.

"Yes, it actually would," Harry confessed.

"They'll take you out of here, eventually. And Hermione too , wherever she is. For inquisition. For ... _further punishment_... For presentation to the Dark Lord," Ron informed him, gloomily.

"Don't tell me how you know that. You're probably one of them already," Harry scowled.

"I would _never_ let them mark me that way. I may have betrayed you, but I would never betray myself, by turning into another minion of the Dark Lord," promised Ron. "But anyways... they'll take you out of here, so we won't have to waste our energy on breaking down these bars. The others, well, we'll have to think about that."

"Do you know that they have Mr. Ollivander here, as well as Luna?" questioned Harry.

"Really?" Ron turned to look at the other cells, seeing familiar faces as well as strangers.

In the background, a rock shattered as it rolled down the steps from which Ron ran down. Both he and Harry turned to the sound, and Ron panicked.

"I have to go. That's my warning. I'll come back again, if I can, and I'll tell you how things go. I will find the bag for you, Harry, and for Hermione's sake. I will do this. I know that it won't make up for the trouble that I've caused, but I hope you find it somewhere in you to forgive me just a little bit." Ron pleaded with him, before walking away and rushing towards the top of the staircase, and eventually Draco.

Harry watched the wizard run free and slumped against his bars again. He laid his heavy head on them, not caring that the rusty edges ripped tiny little scratches into his already marked forehead.

"Harry," a tiny voice whispered. He swiveled his head towards the silent sound, and saw a pale hand flail from the next cell over. He dropped down to his knees, crawled, and grabbed the hand, albeit forcefully.

"Don't worry, Harry. We don't know what just happened between you and Ron, but Mr. Ollivander and Dean and I know that Ron will follow through with this. He will accomplish his goals, and we'll all be okay. Rest assured," whispered Luna. Harry, who nearly lost his voice in the shouting match, clutched onto her hand tighter, and silently wished for things to turn out like she said they would.

"Go to sleep, Harry. You'll need it," she said, pulling her hand away. Harry nearly whimpered at the loss of human contact. He made two fists in his lap and pushed his head back against the harsh rocks of the dungeon cell wall.

He thought back to his dream, of Hermione's words. He closed his eyes.

_I'll always be here for you, tucked away in the corner of your mind, hiding in the corner of your heart. _

He thought of a carefree Hermione, of a different image than the bag of bones that haunted his worries. He thought back to their Hogwarts day, of the random moments in which he caught her blindsided, in her element. He imagined the weekends he found her hidden in her secret little alcoves in the library, tucked away like a blooming flower in the yellow books full of yesterday's words. He remembered the natural smiles she gave him, when he popped up by her side, asking her if she had her fill of sunlight for the day. He could almost feel her hand in his, like when he used to pull her from her books and make her join the rest of civilization.

That was the Hermione he was fighting for, the one that didn't die for him, but rather lived for him.

_If you need to escape, you have me._

* * *

"What were you doing down there? Having a lovely conversation over tea? What took you so long? And why the bloody fuck was Potter howling like Greyback in heat?! Did you poke him? He nearly alerted the rest of the fucking mansion!" Draco's questions were quick, and his disgust concise.

"Nevermind that. Where is the stuff that your Death Eater friends stole from Harry and Hermione? The bags and artifacts?" asked Ron, who was tired of being the receiving end of a human howler.

"The most important possessions we own are in my father's personal office, well as least most of the time... _Why_?" the blonde asked curiously.

"I need your help to get these things back, Malfoy. Will you help me?"

Ron offered a hand between them, offering an important alliance. Draco stared at the hand, thought of the consequences and weighed them with the advantages, and in the end, shook it.

"Not to say that I'm unhappy with your quick decision, but why, Malfoy?" Ron looked at the Death Eater's son, wondering if this was just another trick. Maybe he was being set up again.

Draco stared at him, collecting his words, before sternly stating, "At least this way, there'll be just a bit more excitement in my life. It was getting tiring having to wake up a prisoner in my home, and better yet, being forced to curse people that I don't want to harm in the first place, and despite all this effort, still suffering under the hands of my own father."

"What's the real reason?" Ron waited for the truth, wondering if Malfoy would ever open up to him. He didn't expect him to.

"That is a topic that should be discussed later, when all of this is over, Weasley," Draco said in an almost emotionally cold tone. The pain flashed in his grey eyes, but Ron was too distracted to notice.

"Anyways, back to those things that you were talking about ... Like I said, my father keeps the best stuff in his office. Unfortunately, the drawer is protected by so much magic that it's nearly impossible to open, even if you knew the combination of spells. But I think I have an idea. I can unlock it. I've done it before," Draco said, to veer them in the right direction again.

"Lead the way. We have to hurry!" Ron grasped Draco's shoulder, but Draco shrugged his hand away, and led them through the maze of hallways again. They were allies, but they were not friends.

Ron didn't care, just as long as Malfoy wasn't his enemy. He had enough of those breathing down his neck as of that moment.

* * *

Hermione felt like she was floating, but the constant pangs of pain kept her grounded. She was awake, but not really, so she was hanging in a state between unconsciousness and perceptiveness. She swore that Harry was talking to her, but then he'd disappear. In the end, she concluded that her brain was telling her to wake up, even if her body didn't have the strength to.

She could hear what was going on around her, but it was muffled and distant, kind of like an echo, but sharper. She picked up a few words here and there, but it wasn't enough to tie together into one cohesive story.

Feeling that opening her eyes would only zap any energy that she had left in her reserve stores, she opted to keep them shut. Though she wouldn't find peaceful sleep in this place, she could at least try.

But then those frequent pangs of reality kept setting in, and the nerves in her arms and legs had to respond, waking her brain with a continuous flow of electrocution.

Instead of focusing on the dull pain, she thought of the somewhat pleasant dream she was having before she "woke up."

She and Harry were in the ocean, floating like logs really, but he had her hand interwined in his. She turned her head, feeling the water rush into her ears, and watched Harry's lips, curling into a cute little smile. It made her heart rush a little bit, to see that little upturn of a part of Harry's anatomy that she so loved to touch.

"I think you're incredibly sexy when you smile," she declared, a little shameful in her boldness.

"That's why I do it, to get you all riled up," he answered simply, slowly opening his eyes to look at her. Those piercing emerald eyes blinked at her, drawing her in, hooking onto her soul and reeling it in. She sighed as she basked in his glorious gaze.

"I'm so comfortable, just being here with you," she said, wanting to keep his eyes on hers. Was it so bad to want to stare at him, at those eyes, and just be?

"All you gotta do is breath, baby," he spoke softly.

Hermione remembered the last demand that Harry asked of her, as she lay twisted and distorted on the ground. His eyes were so torn with pain then, like he was the one writhing under Bellatrix's dark games.

"Don't think so hard. Don't think of them and their problems," Harry said, touching her cheek, rotating it towards his face. Hermione sighed, waiting for his lips to crash against hers. This was his perpetual sign, his signal that he wanted to kiss her.

When she woke up, when she could finally corner him and have him all to herself, she would kiss those lips, as if they were the fountain of life itself. She would lick them, draw them between her teeth lightly, and cover them with her own. She would never let them go, never let him go.

But for now, she had to feel content with her imagination.

There was time for that sort of love, later.

Later, when she had time to say that she loved him.

Later, whenever later would happen.

She tried to ignore the lone tear run down her cheek.

There would be a later, she hoped.

* * *

Getting to the office was easy enough, but the room was laced with a million invisible traps, or so Draco emphasized. When they got past the first door, Ron immediately rushed in, but Draco pulled him back by his collar, warning him that if he wanted to keep his limbs as well as his life, he would follow rather than lead the way.

Ron huffed, and let Draco do all the work. It was his father's room, so he would know the secrets that lay in every magical corner of this lavishly furnished den of doom. After Draco deactivated all the alarms, they were able to approach the desk that held many drawers. Some were locked while others were open, but none contained the objects that they were looking for. Ron's eyes bugged out when he saw the pouches of coins lying around like loose change.

"For Merlin's sake..." Ron gasped.

"Pick up your jaw off my father's carpet. It's just money," Draco said nonchalantly.

"Right, it's just money," Ron repeated, stuffing his eyeballs back into his sockets in the process.

"Damnit! Where is it?!" Draco cursed. He ran his hands all around the desk, as well as along the surface of the desk.

"What are you looking for?"

"The lever!"

"There's a lever too?!"

"You are _not_ helping, Weasley!" Draco bellowed. He kicked the desk roughly while Ron was still crouching near the drawers of the desk. The redhead saw the hidden drawer leap out, but with his Quidditch skills, he was able to shove his body backwards, thwarting the oncoming weapon before it left his face in a bloody mess.

"There it is!" cried Draco. Ron shot out his arm, ready to ruffle through the papers and knick knacks that lay in the secret compartment. Draco's leg swung back and kicked his limb out of the way. "Do I have to remind you that my father likes to add painful traps here and there? Especially where his most valuable possessions are concerned? Do you really want to lose an arm so badly?"

"Sorry," Ron whimpered, holding his arm against his chest.

Draco whispered a few distinct phrases in Latin and another old script, and wove his wand over the open drawer. The illusion of envelopes and paper weights was lifted and in its place appeared a singular piece of parchment.

"_What?!_" Draco yelled. Ron haphazardly reached into the drawer for the parchment and read its message aloud. Draco ripped the papers from his hands and read it for himself.

"Who wrote this? What does 'I'm sorry, Lucius,' mean?" questioned Draco.

"How should I know? It's your father's stuff," Ron fired back.

"Oh, shut up, you're so --"

"Malfoy, I think we should leave. We can't be caught here, especially if there's nothing worth being caught for, nothing to be salvaged. Let's go!" Ron lifted himself off the ground and was half way to the door. He watched out for poison flying darts and pixies with archery equipment as well.

"No, I know this handwriting. I've seen it before, many times, but I can't quite place it... Who could have sabotaged my father, right under his nose?!" Draco turned the parchment over and over again in his hands.

"You know what? I think I heard someone's footsteps outside. Let's get out of here, _now_!" Ron shouted at Draco.

"Don't you see?! Someone has stolen your things! What are we supposed to do now? Go on a hide and seek mission? A treasure hunt? We might as well stay here and figure this out!"

"No, seriously, Malfoy, I think someone's standing outside that door," warned Ron, who watched the door knob start to turn.

"My father just got sabotaged. Do you know the implications of this on our family's chances at survival? Slim to none!" Draco was immersed in the tell-tale letter.

"Screw your father, Malfoy!" Ron roared.

Draco snapped his head up, looked at the Gryffindor in the eye, and poised his lips to snarl, but his expression froze.

"Cat's got your tongue, Malfoy? You are so fucking full of shit," Ron commented. This was the only time that the blonde was actually _not_ opening his mouth to say something.

"Excuse me, but I'd rather not hear that sort of language in my home, Mr. Weasley." The icy tone didn't belong to either Draco or Ron, which indicated a third party joined them in the room. What were the chances that the owner of the voice had the same platinum blonde hair like Malfoy and the same grey blue eyes, with a matching smirk?

**_Very, very high._**

Ron was scared to turn his head, to face the person who'd caught them. He already knew though.

It was over.

_Shit_.


	18. Part XVIII

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary**: Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer**: In my dreams, I own Harry Potter, as well as Draco Malfoy, and I think of them doing very non-PG-13 things. With me, that is. Woops, cat's out of the bag, Tinsa is a freak. But I don't own Ron though. He's sort of like a tubby little useless paperweight that I like to throw in the back of my desk drawer. He prefers the darkness, or so I like to think.

**Author's Note**:

First and foremost, I would like to say congratulations to **someguy773**, the first person to see right through my cliffhanger. What a smart bunch you guys are -- might as well write the story for me. I promise there is no cliffhanger in this chapter. Haha. (8

Anyways, remember that chapter that had about 9100+ words? Dude, that's nothing compared to this _32 page, 13,500+ word chapter_ full of angst, comedy, romance, lust, action, and tragedy, among other things.

I made references to _The Kite Runner_ and _Deathly Hallows_ in this chapter -- see if you can catch them. Plus, if it helps, towards the end of the chapter, whenever you'd like, after Dobby's entrance in the chapter, I suggest going to youtube and looking up and listening to Damien Rice's song _Amie_. It's the one video where he has a studio audience. It should be the first video that pops up. It's amazing. If it ends before the end of the chapter, then replay it again. I did the same and the experience was just short of amazing to me. I teared up, and I freakin' typed up the words.

And lastly, I was a bit disappointed with last chapter's response, but that was my fault – it was not my best work, and I understand that. However, this may be the best chapter I've put up so far in the history of my HP fanfics, so I hope you all **REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW**!

* * *

So what do you do

When it all comes down on you?

Do you run and hide

Or face the truth?

So what do you do

When it all comes down on you?

**Papa Roach** **-- **_**What Do You Do**_

* * *

My song is love

My song is love, unknown

But I'm on fire for you, clearly

You don't have to be alone

You don't have to be on your own

And I'm not gonna take it back

.

And I'm not gonna say I don't mean that

You're the target that I'm aiming at

And I'm nothing on my own

Got to get that message home

**Coldplay -- **_**A Message**_

* * *

**PART XVIII**

"Mother! What are you doing here?" cried Draco, caught red-faced and red-handed with the blasphemous note. He thrust his hands behind him, feeling the edge of the parchment slightly nip into the tender flesh of his pinkie. He swallowed the yelp rising in his throat and tried to ignore that his voice felt constricted and as high as the helium in a balloon.

"I think the more appropriate question is _what are you two doing here, rummaging through Lucius's things_? You know how your father hates having his belongings mishandled," Narcissa softly said, gliding into the room.

She glanced once at Ron and swiftly brought her eyes back to her son, who did not hide the surprised and anxious emotions playing on his face. He never could lie to her about the turmoil of his feelings -- she was _his mother, the vessel through which he was carried into this unfortunate world_. She saw right through his "big boy" facade, but he'd always be the young, playful, and albeit spoiled beautiful bouncing blonde boy of hers, a cherub of a child and a basket of worries as an adolescent boy who reminded her too painfully sometimes of his father. They even looked alike, she used to complain. Lucius's image dominated in his son's overall demeanor, but he would always have her eyes, the one thing she could claim as hers in him.

"What do we do know, Malfoy?" Ron uttered under his breath, over his shoulder to Draco. The blonde wizard shrugged as hi mother used her hawk-like eyes to sift through his mind. She smiled as she did this, scaring the magic out of Ron. He only encountered the woman a few times before, and usually from a distance, so it was shocking and frightening to finally meet her now, in this certain situation. He formulated a joke in his mind, a defense mechanism he developed for the worst predicaments, but the punch line died on his lips. It was a terrible joke, and he wasn't exactly in the laughing mood right now.

"Draco, dear, I think it's time for you to leave. You should go along and get washed up. I love you, son, I really do, but you look like an awful mess, not very presentable, especially for the honored guest that will be joining us tonight. Oh, and wear the new grey robes that I bought for you. They're lying on your bed. As for your ... _friend_, I need to speak with him." Narcissa gestured towards Ron, who had not moved a muscle since they were caught snooping around for objects that were not there anymore.

"Sorry, Weasley," mumbled Draco as he dropped the parchment into the drawer and bolted from the room. He made sure to kiss his mother on the cheek before running. Ron watched him, helplessly frozen, and felt dismay spread within him like a virus. He never thought this would happen.

Now that Malfoy was gone, there would be no witnesses around to speak for the events that were about to occur. If Narcissa Malfoy wanted to AK him now, she could do so without discretion, and then after, dispose of his body as she pleased. If anyone asked what happened, she could come up with a deviant lie, saying he tried to escape the grounds, but met his doom on the way out. His life depended on the compassion of a prejudiced, intolerable, and cold Malfoy, so unless he thought of something quick and witty, he would actually die tonight. He gulped, fearing a death he did not foresee.

"So Mr. Weasley, did you have fun running around my home with my son, plotting against the Dark Lord's grand plans?" the beautiful woman asked, pacing around the fearful boy, scrutinizing him with her glare. She smirked as he shook. It really was too easy to intimidate these new ranks of wizards and witches -- all it took was one menacing look and they fell to their knees. "_So what have you to say to defend yourself, boy_?"

"Please don't hurt me!" pleaded Ron. "I'm only trying to make what's wrong right again. Draco was helping me!"

Narcissa laughed, throwing her head back, letting her blonde hair dance with mirth in the candlelight. "Do you think that I do not know my own son? He's just like his father, unfortunately; unwilling to help anyone but himself, especially if the person to help is one of Dumbledore's favorites. Now what are you really doing here? Lying won't help you, so I advise you speak with honesty."

"I'm trying to save myself," Ron revealed. It was the primitive truth, under all his desires to help Harry and Hermione, to see the light of their friendship again. He was scared for his life, like anyone would be under the pressures he was under, and he wanted to live still, by the end of this day.

"By stealing? I knew you Weasley lot were never well-to-do, but I never mistook you as thieves," Narcissa accused snarkily.

"What was stolen belonged to my friends, so technically you were the ones who stole, and I am just trying to get their things back. You and your husband are the thieves, not I!" Ron bravely stated. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, the dismay that once filled him slowly being replaced with irritation.

"Finally! The claws of the lion! You Gryffindors are all the same -- bravery rolled up in stupidity and a dash of foolishness. Do you really think you could have pulled all of this off, even with my son's help? I do commend you for gaining Draco as an ally. Given his obvious history of disappointments and his tendency to be headstrong, it must have been difficult getting him to shut up long enough to follow your directions! I should know, I'm his mother." Narcissa stood a wand's length away from Ron. She told him to take a seat on Lucius's chair.

"We have much to go over. You will follow all my orders, if you wish to stay alive. I will help you, if you help me. It's a very simple concept. You look like a competent enough boy. I'm sure you'll understand. I will make this quick, so you better pay attention. I still have matters to attend to, after this. Do you comprehend, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron slumped down into the large chair, and said monotonically, "Yes, ma'am."

Narcissa smiled. "Good. Now..."

* * *

Draco scurried to the dungeons, ignoring the voices of instinct that were telling him that what he was about to do was a very bad idea. He was in enough trouble as it was, but by going to Potter, he was only making it worse. He tried not to dry heave from the smell, so he covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve as he nearly tripped down the stairs, towards the last place he should be: at Harry Potter's cell. He called out Potter's name, but no one answered. He yelled louder, and finally a tired voice said, "He's right here. Stop hollering."

Draco faced his Quidditch rival, instantaneously shaken by how gruff and unkempt the wizard looked. He noticed the void look in Potter's green eyes, but shrugged it off, letting the news spill from his mouth, without stopping to breath.

"Ron did _what_?!" Harry hollered, tilting his head in confusion.

"Never mind that! The important thing is that my mother found us rifling through Lucius's drawers, and she asked me to leave, so I had to. I don't know what became of Weasley. She said she wanted to talk to him, but my mother isn't one to have conversations." Draco was being honest, Harry could tell that much, but exactly why was such a mystery.

_Did Ron really acquire a Death Eater's son as an ally?_ It was the most unlikely move on Ron's part, considering his beliefs and values, and that it was bloody _Draco Malfoy_ of all people. Though he was very grateful to know what was going on beyond the bars of his cell, he still had a sneaking suspicion that Malfoy had ulterior motives and could not be trusted. Could he trust a Malfoy, when his own best friend burned him with betrayal? Was it wise to trust a wizard that for the majority of their years of association, wanted to see him failing, injured, or dead?

Harry thought back to the night of Dumbledore's death, of the moment he witnessed Draco Malfoy fail to kill the wise old man. The secret revelation was a humanizing one, in Harry's eyes. So maybe being the son of a Death Eater didn't entail that the traits were passed down, that perhaps it depended upon the integrity of the person in question. But even now, during this War, the distinguishing line between those to be trusted with your lives and those who wished to end your life was as blurry as his own vision, when he wasn't wearing his black wire-rimmed glasses.

"The others will be arriving soon. They will have dinner and discuss how to handle this new twist of the plot, and then they will summon you. You probably have a good idea of what happens next." Draco glanced at Harry, counting the last minutes of his existence, feeling nothing relative to concern, but of deep confusion. Did his own existence ring truth if Harry Potter, the tenacious stain on his robes, didn't exist?

Harry Potter had been the central factor of his life, whether he liked it or not. When he wasn't fuming about how Potter bested him at Quiditch, how Potter's friends got his own friends in trouble, how Potter ruined his family's structure and routines, and how Potter was being the famous little hero while he stood in the shadows as the dark, dishonest, yet dashing son of a Death Eater who was not to be trusted. What would happen if Potter was taken out of the picture? Who was he? A Death Eater's son, another victim of war-tainted youth? Who?

"And Hermione?" Harry shakily questioned. Draco simply shrugged.

"They might keep her around, or kill her, or make you kill her -- pick and choose whatever option you like. She won't have a happy ending. I'm sorry, Potter," Draco paused, grimacing, disliking the sudden drop in his tone. With that apology, he ran from the dungeon, leaving Harry with a hundred more questions that he didn't have prior to Draco's arrival.

Harry hung his head, waiting for things to fall into place. Unless Ron was building a miracle, they had no chance, not at all.

He couldn't find solace in his thoughts of Hermione. She was not there.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this, Mrs. Malfoy?" Ron asked, a bit shell shocked from their conversation.

"I am very sure, Mr. Weasley. After seeing my son put in the front lines of danger, _there is nothing I wouldn't do anymore_, to see that he is taken into safety. I thought what I did last year, regarding the whole Dumbledore debacle, was enough to protect him, but I was wrong. I saw that to protect him, I had to put him in the enemy's hands, because he can't survive in ours. Mind that you follow your half of the bargain. You may think I'm being helpful now, but if you decide to double-cross me, you will feel my wrath. If I see you on the battlefield, if you betray me, then I won't hesitate to throw a spell at you that would make your mother cry in sorrow. Now go, freshen up. You are my guest as well. I will come to you again. I must tend to other errands, tie up loose ends."

Narcissa led Ron out of the room, calling for a house elf to guide him back to his suite. She watched the redheaded boy shuffle alongside the tiny little creature, and sighed. The fate of her son lied in that wizard's hands.

She re-entered her husband's office, and tidied up.

There was no point being caught, if she could prevent the chances.

* * *

"Greyback said that there was a bit of activity in the dungeons earlier today, so they installed two of the lower ranking members to watch over those poor souls. The sorry bastards know something big will happen tonight. Can you imagine how terrified they must be?"

"They deserve it! Rotten little things. They should be honored that they are able to witness this historic day. The day that the Dark Lord finally killed Harry Potter and all of his little friends!"

The Death Eaters laughed to themselves as they took their places at the long formal dinner table that only Lucius Malfoy could afford to buy. It was an audacious piece, but it worked in harmony with the other grandeur objects that the Manor held.

Draco watched the guests with sunken eyes and a dull aching at the pit of his stomach. This was it. He went behind his father's back, even helped Potter and his gang, and they still would all die. If his mother kept her mouth shut about the office incident, as he assumed she would, then he would be safe from persecution. However, if the Dark Lord found about her deception, as well as his own, then Lucius would lose more than what was left of his pride and dignity and rank among the ladder of elite officers of the Dark Lord's regime. He observed his plate, seeing his reflection gleam in the silverware, affected and isolated from the rest of the celebration.

A hand on his shoulder took him away from the dark notions of his mind. He looked at the manicured, soft looking hand and then at his mother's face. She was still dressed in her ordinary robes, and her face was not made up yet. He greeted her in caring recognition.

"I must talk to you, in your room, away from the other guests. It is a private matter. Come, boy," she asked, leading him away from the table and out the door of the formal dinner party.

Her hand remained on his shoulder, despite their variation in height. She spoke quickly and quietly as their feet moved towards his wing of the Manor.

"We will need your assistance, later. Bellatrix wants you to retrieve Potter from the dungeons. Ron Weasley and Peter Pettigrew will be with you there, but you must be guarded, not overt. You will take Potter from his cell, blinded all the while, and present him before the Dark Lord. You will step aside with me, and what happens next ... is out of my control," Narcissa whispered loud enough for only him to hear. She made sure to tighten her hold on his shoulder, to make it hurt, to emphasize the points of her instructions. He needed to know that this was all real, even if he wasn't ready.

"As you wish, mother," Draco said, peering briefly into the eyes that so greatly mirrored his. They were both playing roles they were destined to endure -- the hostess and the unwilling hostess's son. She smiled softly at him, before releasing her hand. Then she fixed her expression, and she was no longer the caring mother he knew. She was the perfect crystal wife of a Death Eater again. This idea made Draco squirm -- her ability to transform within seconds. And those eyes! He never could tell what truths played beneath her calm eyes. They were like foggy mirrors, the ones that made everything more trivial rather than clear. He wished he were as unreadable as she, because then he'd be the perfect weapon.

"What I say does not go beyond the walls of your room. This is a secret that must be kept between the both of us. Do you promise that you won't say a word to another soul about this, Draco, son? In life, sacrifices must be made, and secrets kept buried. It is the way of life, of our lives," she dictated.

Draco nodded, saying, "I understand."

"Do you really?"

The question hung in the air as they silently trooped to the quarters that he had grown up in. He didn't dare to respond, for he had no definite answer. He couldn't say yes or no -- the confusion of the day took away his certainty.

* * *

The two Death Eaters marched from one end of the dungeon to the other, letting their robes billow behind them, caught in a mysterious wind. They reminded Harry of the pesky Prefects at Hogwarts, snobby and sneering. They patrolled the tiny walkway that separated the cells, glancing at the desperate faces of the prisoners, and laughing merrily all the while. Though they were unable to partake in the celebration upstairs, they were only inches away from the most important presentation of the night: Harry Potter, the great champion of the underdogs, the Boy-Who-Lived, the savior of the Light.

"Looking a bit long in the face, Potter. Why so sad? You'll be joining your rotten father and Mudblood mother soon enough. Isn't that all you ever wanted? To see your mummy and daddy?" the Death Eaters mocked. They chortled in glee, but their taunts didn't faze Harry. He'd heard it all before. He rolled his eyes and stared at the wall, forming last minute plans in his head.

So far, all he knew was that Ron had been caught, Draco ran to his mother's protection, and Hermione was still being hidden from him. Divided, they were powerless, especially him.

If only he had that pouch of broken goods! It contained Hermione's wand. If he could just get his hands on that, he could stun and body bind his way free of this cell, free the others, and curse every Death Eater that stood in their way.

He could even test out the shattered mirror pieces and call for help. But the dead could not help him out. Seeing a familiar face would quell the rush of emotions simmering beneath his skin. He was scared, terribly scared, of how everything was working out. No spell could take him away from here. He almost wanted them to win, almost let them see him break down and go insane, but he kept his composure. _Just to feel Hermione once last time._

It had been what seemed like days since the last time he laid eyes on her, and the lack of connection with her was tearing him up inside. For the last three months, they woke up to each other's faces and fell asleep listening to each other's breaths. Not knowing where she was, not knowing if she was sleeping well or waking up for that matter, really scared him. He wondered where she could be hiding, how she was feeling, and if she was thinking of him. She said that if he ever wanted to escape, that he only had to think of her. Thinking of her now not only made him feel worse, but also fed his desperation. He needed to see her, hear her, and touch her. He needed to feel that she still existed in his world.

Coincidentally, Hermione was sitting up in her own cell, which was a bit more comfortable than his, but not by much. The house elves that watched over her liked to talk, and since she didn't come off as an imposing character, they chattered away as the worked. She kept her mouth shut and tried not to react to the steady gossip about the past days' events. A girl could only take so much before she had to respond!

The house elves observed her. Feeding their curiosity, they asked her, "Are you that ... witch from Hogwarts? The one that Dobby says is a friend of ... the wizard that freed him?"

Hermione nodded, sniffling. "How do you know Dobby?"

"Oh! We see Dobby from time to time, missus. He is an old friend!" they exclaimed, clapping their hands.

"You've seen Dobby? Multiple times? I thought Harry freed him from the Malfoy's control," she wondered aloud. She faced the house elves, watching their expressions.

"Yes, missus. Dobby likes to visit when the Master is away on his business trips. He brings us news of revolution and frivolity and ... _free will._" The house elves' eyes, which were naturally quite large already, grew impossibly wider at the last words.

"Do you mean to say Dobby can come here, undetected?" Hermione asked the creatures. They looked at her, bewildered. This was the most activity they saw out of her since they were first assigned to care for her.

"Sometimes, if the Master is not looking," one of the house elves said meekly.

"Can you ... call him?" Hermione murmured, amazed at this new discovery.

"We have never attempted to, missus. We are not allowed to, Master says so," they cried. "The Master does not like it when we perform magic. He says that is meant for witches and wizards... the _Pureblood_ kind."

They looked up at her, with those round eyes, and a chip of Hermione's heart broke, at the sight of everything she fought for and against with S.P.E.W. These creatures thought that they were inferior to witches and wizards because it was drilled into their minds -- but the important factor was that they could perform magic, just like she could, except they did not even need wands! If anything, witches and wizards were inferior to them.

"I am a Muggleborn, did you know? And yet I lack Pure blood, I, too, can perform magic like your Master. My name is Hermione Granger," she said, introducing herself.

The elves eyes' bugged out even more. "So it is you! So it is true! Dobby was not lying!"

"Yes, Dobby was telling the truth."

The house elves squealed, jumping up and down. They slushed the bucket that held the dirty water that they were using to clean Hermione's filthy cell.

Hermione observed them and a plan popped in her head. If they could perform wandless magic, if they could call out to Dobby, then perhaps…

Hermione crawled before them, sat at their feet, and begged. "Can you please do me a favor? Please contact Dobby for me. Please, try! The Dark Lord is going to kill Harry Potter tonight, and I am helpless here … Please, help me and my friend!"

The house elves stared down at their odd prisoner, realizing the implications of her stance. She laid on the ground before them, closer to the center of gravity, in a demeaning manner, as they did for their Master countless times. This witch who was in Harry Potter's ranks, pleaded to them for help. There was a sign of inferiority in her stance -- and their superiority, their power, something that was taken from their hands a long time ago, by their Master's will. They were confused and thrilled and their consciences were on the edge of reason. They thought of hurting themselves for their radical feelings, but didn't.

A friend of Dobby, though strange as she was, was a friend of theirs.

Dobby told them the story of the great Harry Potter. He said he was a magnificent wizard, very different from their cruel, cold Master. This wizard talked to Dobby as an equal, a friend! This kind wizard had a kind friend that championed elf liberation and elf rights, and sympathized with their feelings and opinions about their lifestyle, though they didn't wish to explore the ideas out loud.

A few house elves pushed Dobby's words aside, calling it poppycock and trash. They said it was just a product of the encouragement that Dobby got from his falsely blasphemous newfound freedom. They said house elves were never meant to be free. These house elves had been employed by the Malfoys for generations; there was no surprise that they stayed extremely loyal. However, most of the house elves kept Dobby's words close to their hearts. They couldn't ignore the truth behind his revelations.

The house elves gaped at each other, both wondering what to do next. They nodded, and said, "For you, missus, we will call Dobby. He still works at Hogwarts, the Master's son's school, yes?"

Hermione nodded her head and breathed a sigh of relief. She almost burst into tears of happiness when she saw them gather their materials and leave.

There was still hope, though it was only a sliver.

"A sliver is all we need," Hermione declared aloud. She smiled, for the first time in a long time.

* * *

Ron shrugged on the rich robes, feeling the material run through his fingers like water. They were borrowed robes, but they were the best he ever had. He felt the material cling to his shoulders and arms, and couldn't fight the temptation of throwing a smirk at himself in the mirror.

Only moments ago, Narcissa had barged into his room with the robes. He just stepped out of a shower and was dressed sparingly in a strategically placed towel. He clutched the towel in his hands as she talked to him, as if he wasn't half-naked. He knew she was an older witch so these things shouldn't have bothered her, but really, did Lucius walk around half-naked so she wouldn't flinch if she saw another wizard do the same, especially a younger, more fit wizard?

"You must look presentable. I may be helping you, but you cannot ruin my reputation as the hostess of the most fabulously dressed guests, by bearing your tattered robes," Narcissa commented. She placed the folded robes on his bed. She stayed a while longer, to go over their plans.

"So when you lead Pettigrew, Draco, and I from the room, you'll slip the objects into my hands? Won't they be bulky and noticeable?" he asked, before she left.

"Are you a wizard or not? If we can enlarge spiders, we can reduce the size of every day items!" she snapped. "But I think I will give them to Draco first. He's my son. It seems more appropriate that way. He can give them to you after you pick up Potter. Slip them into your pockets, under your robes, and when the time is right, escape with them. I will lift the apparition guards once the Dark Lord starts his speech of evil triumphing at last. I want you to grab a hold of those you wish to save. You must concentrate of a safe house, a place where you know there will be friends to take care of all of you. Do you have an idea? Yes? Good. Don't forget."

"What about Draco?" Ron questioned, almost forgetting that the towel that kept him decent was slipping.

"I will have my last words with him in time. I'll try to explain everything. When you feel it is time to leave, only give me a signal and I will push him your way. Grab tightly onto him, and take him with you. Make sure he is treated well, wherever you go. Promise me that he stays in safer hands." The woman's voice broke a little towards the end of her reply, and a few tears fell from her eyes. They were the only cracks he could see in her image as a porcelain ice queen. Really, under the entire cold exterior, under all the false layers she put up, she was just another mother concerned for her son's future. She was no different from his own mum, not in the most basic sense.

"I promise, Narcissa," he said awkwardly, fumbling over her name. She left, swiping at her eyes. He could see her back straighten, her shoulders tensed, and the dutiful wife and mother was back, as cold as ever.

Ron gazed at his reflection, watching out for differences. These were the same eyes, the same dirty nose, the same smile, the same everything. These physical things didn't change. He was still tall, gangly, and awkward, but something was definitely different. He couldn't place a finger on what it was though.

Over the past few days, he felt that everything he once was dissolved and was replaced with a new person. Could he call himself a better person, after all he had done? He took on the pressures, welcoming it with open arms, and now was struggling under its weight. The old Ron would have shrugged it off, blamed someone else for the calamity, and whistled along as if he played no part in the destruction. However, the new Ron was not giving up. He accepted his faults and was in the process of making things right again. It would be a long and tremendously difficult journey to pay back everyone for the crimes he committed, but he would fight nonetheless. He would never stop, until he gained his friends' approval again, until he wouldn't feel disappointment every time he faced a mirror.

He didn't see a hero in his reflection -- he could never be a hero, like Harry. Harry did things with no ulterior motives; he did all he had to, just for the sake of helping others, because he wanted to. He didn't care if he was injured, just as long as the others were safe. He didn't care if the papers printed his name and photo, hailing him as a hero or as a bastard and a celebrity. He pushed aside the offers of even more fame and glory. He was selfless where Ron was selfish; this was the mark that distinguished them. But Ron had to defend himself; he saw how Draco Malfoy had tried to fight the powers that told him how to act, was inspired, and now he was fighting the same good battle. He wasn't a hero yet, never would be, but he was still a better man than yesterday. _Maybe that was enough._

He stared hard again at his face, looking for the traces of a traitor. The shadows still lingered, but the mark was not so obviously bright red now. Day by day, he would rub off the scarlet paint, until he could show his face again.

He adjusted the lapels of his robe, and let out a deep breath.

"Are you ready, kid?" his reflected asked.

Ron shook his head and replied, "I'll never be ready, but I'll try."

"That's the spirit!"

He moved away from the talking mirror, remembering Draco's words about charmed mirrors. He smiled a little, albeit sadly. Everything would change, for all of them, after tonight.

He approached the doorway, looking back at his room. Hopefully this would be the last time he'd see this place.

"It's show time, baby."

* * *

Bellatrix paced across Lucius's carpet, burning imprints of her footsteps as she twittered about, anxious and overwhelmed with excitement at the thought of the arrival of her Lord and Master.

"Bellatrix, try to contain yourself. You're so happy you're ripping at the seams, my dear," Lucius said playfully, chuckling. He sat at his desk, palms flat against the surface of the dark, rich wood.

"I know, Lucius. I must have a drink to calm my nerves. What do you have?" she asked, wringing her hands, popping her knuckles unconsciously.

"I have a bit of Firewhiskey. Would you like that?" Lucius offered, jumping from his eat to pour himself a shot. Dealing with the Dark Lord was a very stressful job -- anything that gave him confidence was key to a great day.

"That stuff burns going down my throat," the witch complained, running her fingers through her knotted nest of shockingly midnight black hair.

"I think that's the point of it?" offered the blonde-haired man, who was already tipping his head back for his second glass.

"I need something sweeter. Where is Cissy? She knows what I like," commented Bellatrix. She looked around the room and asked, "By the way, where is my dear sister? I haven't seen hair or hide of her all day."

"Bella, stop pouting. You know how Narcissa is with her party planning. She was running around all day, preparing things and such. She never stops until everything is pristine and shining like the sun." Lucius knocked back a third shot, grimacing as the liquid fire literally burned his throat. His muscles loosened, and his mind relaxed a bit.

"I guess so. I hope she's primping because the Dark Lord is set to arrive soon. We must all be present and punctual to welcome his Grace. He's been gone for so long, on a personal journey that even I was not privy to. And he tells me everything."

Lucius watched the pale witch from his desk, pondering on her true feelings for the Dark Lord. Only a woman as evil as she could find anything remotely appealing in a demon like that.

His mind wandered to his wife, who he also hadn't seen much of since the early morning. He couldn't shake off the odd feeling that she was keeping something from him, but it was a feeling that was not foreign to him. Ever since he came back from Azkaban, the woman hid from him. The woman was a secret masked in enigma and bound to silence by her own will. It bothered him, that even now, after all their years of marriage, she hid knowledge from him.

"It is always proper that a lady keeps at least one secret to herself; it keeps her fresh and mysterious, but not so much that her husband is stuck sifting through the mist of her heart," Narcissa once told him. He nodded, going back to his tea. His wife was more intelligent than many realized, even him.

"Bella, I will be right back. I must find my wife," he blurted out, standing up from his seat. He took a few unsteady steps towards the door. The blood rushed to his head and he was overcome with lightheadedness.

"Stay away from the Firewhiskey, Lucius. You must be present, in body and mind, when the Dark Lord comes," Bellatrix warned him as he walked away from the room. His steps were not wobbly.

Something was stirring within the walls of his home. Something electric, and he had to get to the bottom of it. He knew his wife was involved in the mystery. She was always slipping her hands into situations she shouldn't, like in Draco's destiny. She may not have caused his son's failure, but she played a key role. And for that, they all suffered.

He strolled into their private bedroom, calling out her name. He wasn't surprised when all that greeted him was silence.

"Where is my dear Cissy?" he asked himself, feeling the heat of his alcoholic breath upon his cheek. He stalked out of the room, in his continuous search for his lovely wife.

...

He ultimately found her in Draco's room, in what seemed to be a heavy, heartfelt talk with their son. He caught the tail end of his son's obviously angry response to whatever his mother just said.

"W_hat about you?! Who will look out for you?_" Draco screamed.

Interjecting, Lucius drawled, "Draco, don't speak to your mother in that tone. I've raised you better than that."

"Lucius!"

"Father."

The mother and son jumped, surprised by his entrance.

"Oh, Lucius. Your son is just being cautious for me. I really don't know why, because we will be entertaining friends tonight. I think he just wanted to get away from the old, dull crowd," Narcissa said, striding over to her husband, kissing him on the cheek affectionately. She hooked her arm through his and gave Draco a look, but its meaning slipped past Lucius's understanding.

"Draco, stop being a pansy and go down and entertain our guests while your mother prepares herself. Go now before I take away your precious broom. And take that smug look off your face; it's very unbecoming. I'm your father, not one of your annoying little friends." Draco did as he was told, stomping out of the room.

"It's your fault he's theatrical," Lucius teased, smiling down at his wife. After all these years, this woman captured his attention and kept him on his toes, like no other woman he ever met.

"And it's yours that it takes so little to make him angry," she teased back. They sighed together, in the silence of their son's quarters.

"Tonight will be a glorious one, for the Malfoy name and for the Dark Lord as well. You must hurry and get ready for his arrival -- the fruits of our labor will finally be rewarded to us -- all because we have Potter and his little friends!"

Narcissa watched the light dance in her husband's eyes. She knew he had started drinking already. He would never speak of the Dark Lord in such a way, the way that Bellatrix did, unless he was filled with false confidence. The overly assertive man he used to be was broken down by the continuous disappointments of his failures and the Dark Lord's subsequent punishments.

"It certainly will be a night to remember, my dear," she said, offering a puzzle of a reply to Lucius's already suspicious mind.

He stared down into her eyes again, searching for a single crack in her armor of honesty. The woman was infuriating -- she knew how to control her thoughts and emotions like an official Ministry Secret Keeper. That was part of the reason he became, and still was, attracted to her. She had the ability to stay mysterious. But during times like these, when he wished he could see the thoughts that ran through her, he wished she could just reveal what lay lurking beneath those piercing blue eyes -- the truth that hid behind the smoke and mirrors.

* * *

Dobby sat by the fireplace, peering into the flames as his other friends hustled and bustled around him. He was taking a mandatory break, whether the others wanted to join him or not. They looked at him disapprovingly, muttering words about socks and superiority.

Many students had gone home already, pulled from their education by fearful parents. There were still a handful of students left, but only enough to occupy one long table at the Great Hall. There were fewer mouths to feed, and therefore, less work for them.

Dobby knew there was a war being fought outside these walls that enclosed him. His good friend Albus Dumbledore told him once of the strife, that is, before his untimely death. The old wizard told him this would happen, that the Second Dark War was coming, initiated by the same tyrant from the previous one. This was part of the reason why he was sulking – the old wizard's words were coming back to him, placing themselves at the forefront of his selective memory.

"_When the time is right … you will be called upon, you will be of great assistance to Harry Potter. My friend, Dobby, do not be afraid. I do not know if or when, but should the signal come, I advise that you respond to it, quickly. You always wanted to protect Harry, the great wizard that saved you, yes? Well, in time, Dobby, you will have the opportunity to save him. Do not hesitate, do not fear."_

"Why must wizards talk in riddles?" Dobby complained. Just as he stood to leave the warmth of the fireside, familiar voices from a long time ago called his name.

"Dobby! Dobby! Do you hear us?"

"Whimsy? Flipsy?" he called out to them. Oh, his old friends! How he missed them! They were left behind, when he gave up his life as a chained house elf of a Dark family.

"Dobby, our old friend! We call to you for help! Missus Hermione Granger asked us to find you, to alert you that she and her friend are in trouble at the Malfoy Manor! The Dark – Vo – He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is to come tonight… to kill Harry Potter! You must help!" Their voices were coming from the fireplace, whose flames turned green.

"Harry Potter and his friends are captured at Malfoy Manor, and need Dobby's assistance!" Dobby cried.

"Hurry, dear Dobby! The time is almost near!"

"I will find help, I will!" he cried again into the green flames. The other house elves watched him, laughing behind their leathery hands. Their precious "free" elf was going mad.

"We will meet again, friend!"

The message was cut short and the flames turned red again.

Dobby stared at the other elves, shocked that it was time to act. There was no time for goodbyes. He ran from the kitchen, pass the concealed painting that acted as the doorway, into the dark halls of Hogwarts Castle. He needed to inform Minerva McGonagall of the message. He needed to disapparate on the grounds away from the magic castle. He needed to fulfill his promise to Dumbledore.

The only thing that remained in his tracks was a singular stinky sock, a reminder of how Harry Potter saved him from a treacherous life. In his hurry, he dropped the memorabilia.

He would never find it again.

* * *

He popped into the kitchen, where his old friends welcomed him in gasps of awe. He was the Harry Potter in their miniature world, the special one. But they didn't want to be saved, not like he.

"Where is Harry Potter?" he asked, pulling away from the crowd.

"He is in the dungeons," a tiny voice in the back rang out.

"Thank you, my friends, but I must leave. The great Harry Potter saved me once, but now I must return the favor. I will see you all again, one day, and that day… we will all be free!" Dobby gave away some parting hugs, but eventually he paused and popped away from the room.

His elf friends watched as their old friend disappeared as suddenly as he appeared. They stood star-stricken and frozen, wondering if they really would see their friend again. Then they returned to their work – the Master and Mistress were hosting a party tonight.

When Dobby came to, after a whirl of color and sound, he was in the corner of a dungeon cell, whose sole resident was Harry Potter. The wizard's eyes widened when he saw the familiar face. Dobby wanted to scream out loud, but he was silenced when Harry shoved his rough hand on the elf's mouth. Harry placed a finger on his lips, shushing him. He then pointed outside, past the iron bars, to the guards standing post.

Dobby nodded before snapping his fingers twice. Harry watched the bodies of the guards stunned ands shoved aside by an invisible hand, into one of the empty cells. The clanging of the bars signaled the end of the patrol.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked, astounded by the wandless magic performed by the house elf.

"That is of no importance now. Harry Potter and his friends must be freed, or does the wonderful Harry Potter want to rot in prison?" Dobby laughed his creep little elf laugh before launching his thin, leathery body towards Harry, who easily held his arms around the tiny body of his little friend.

"Can you apparate from here, Dobby?" Harry asked. Dobby nodded, clapping is hands. "Okay, good. I want you to take the others to somewhere safe… to somewhere…"

Harry's mind searched for the most random, most unpredictable location possible. Somehow, he pictured Fleur and Bill's homey cottage, a present from Fleur's parents for their wedding. Before leaving for their journey, Harry, Hermione and Ron heard the news that the Weasley newlyweds moved into the cottage, to start their own family. They all promised to visit them, though at the back of their mind, they felt guilty for lying – they were leaving, and did not have plans to return. At least this way, they were fulfilling their promise.

"Take them to Bill and Fleur Weasley's cottage – _Shell Cottage_!" Harry ordered. "Come back for us, later, when the rest of us are all together, okay, Dobby?"

"For Harry Potter, a thousand times I would!" Dobby exclaimed. He disapparated with a pop, but Harry heard the commotion in the cells next to his.

"Oh, it's a fairy!" Luna cried.

"Silly girl, that's too ugly to be a fairy!" Griphook, a different type of elf criticized. He was also a prisoner of war.

"It is a house elf, my dear," corrected Ollivander, the wizard that Harry had gotten to know well within the last few hours. The old man told him of the legend of the Elder Wand, a component in the Deathly Hallows story that Luna's father touched upon when they visited her bizarre house, a visit that seemed like a distant memory since Harry's incarceration.

"Not just any house elf – it's Dobby! Hermione spewed so much about him," Dean said.

_It's S.P.E.W._, Harry wanted to clarify. He cringed, remembering the way Hermione used to reprimand him for making fun of her lost cause group. But there was little time left for remembering and talking – the seconds were winding down, like grains of sand in an hourglass.

"Hurry up! There's not much time! Take them away, Dobby!" Harry instructed.

"As you wish, Harry Potter," that friendly voice softly screeched. With a quiet pop, the chatter that once filled the next cell over was replaced with a comfortable silence. Harry smiled against the iron bars that he clutched, happy that the rest o them were safe.

However, there were still a few kinks left to handle. Hermione was still being hidden, Ron was missing, and time was running out. The Dark Lord would come any second now.

His scar burned suddenly. He clutched his forehead in his hand, hissing at the familiar pain.

"He's close," he told himself.

* * *

Ron entered the room of Death Eaters cautiously, treading on eggshells as if he just interrupted his mother's frequent reunions with her old girl friends from her youth under the guise of a "book club."

He looked around for familiar faces and found many, but most scowled back at him. He could almost read the words that fell from their lips. _What's a Weasley doing here? That Pureblood traitor! Mudblood lover! Friend of Harry Bleeding Potter!_

Lucius was talking with Dolores Umbridge, who was invited to the celebration, when he heard the commotion. He turned his head, his words dying on his lips, and watched the redheaded boy enter the room. His ears picked up the questions and accusations from his guests. He smiled widely, excusing himself from Dolores' presence and walked over to the scared young man.

"You look decent for once, Mr. Weasley," he said, looking straight into the tall boy's eyes. He hadn't seen him since they first all apparated to the Manor. He wondered how the boy reacted when he saw the view from the window, laughing inside.

"Thank you, sir. Narc – Mrs. Malfoy lent me your son's old robes," he stammered, fingering the material with his pointer finger and thumb. His rough-looking shoes peeked from below the material. Lucius eyed the mud-caked shoes and smirked.

"You must be starving. Excuse my rude behavior, for not inviting you to join us at dinner. You know how hectic life is these days. You really don't know when to do the normal things – blinking, breathing, eating, and sleeping – when you have so much to handle, right?" Lucius asked the boy, who only nodded.

Lucius threw an arm over the boy's broad shoulders, pulling him towards Draco's location in the room. "You know my boy, Draco. He's just as uncomfortable as you. You should go sit down next to him. It'll be easier for the latter part of the evening … I expect that Narcissa has informed you of your role in tonight's extravaganza, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Ron whispered, eyes wide at the array of robes and faces that filled the big room.

"Now, go. Draco needs some company," Lucius ordered, shoving Ron. Ron gathered his balance and walked calmly to Draco's side. He looked down at the blonde boy, who did not turn his head at his arriving footsteps. Ron coughed, taking his seat at the table. He kept his mouth shut, eyes staring forward.

"Nice robes, Weasley," Draco said stingingly. He picked up his cup of wine and sipped the drink before placing it down on the table again.

"Thank your mother, Malfoy. The one you left me to deal with," Ron spat back.

"I told you once before – I'm looking out for myself in the long run, as are you, so if the opportunity calls for my escape from a dangerous situation, I will take it."

Ron scowled, saying, "And here I thought you did the impossible and changed your ways. You haven't changed a bit." Draco turned his head, glaring at him.

"And you have? Don't fool yourself, Weasley. You are a traitor, always will be. You can do as many courageous acts of stupidity for your old friends, but you will never pull off the label. You will always be known as the one who brought Harry Potter to the Death Eaters," Draco accused. Ron cursed under his breath, calling the boy names that his mother would hit him with a spatula for.

"Who are you to call me a traitor, Malfoy? Should I inform your father of what you've been up to these past days? Ruffling through his desk, searching for valuable goods, informing the enemy with updates about what's been going on?" threatened Ron quietly. He wanted to break that wizard's stubborn little neck for turning on him so suddenly.

"I dare you to. I may be punished, but you will be murdered. Are you willing to die to tell the truth, you bloody idiot? No? I didn't think so!" sneered Draco. "Fucking Gryffindors," he muttered under his breath.

Ron, realizing that their conversation was already over, gripped the arms of his chair and sat rod-straight against the uncomfortable wooden chair that hurt his back. Instead of continuing the exchange of words that would eventually lead to a wand fight, he decided to observe the guests, to take note of anything that could be of importance in the future, if they all would make it that far.

Among the sea of Death Eaters, an image that used to be stuff of nightmares for him but now was a reality, he caught a glint of gold. The gold led him to the sore black robes that wrapped around the vilest woman, aside from Bellatrix Lestrange, that Ron had ever had the displeasure to encounter – Dolores Umbridge, the rotten woman who took over Hogwarts for a small part of a school year.

She was working in the Ministry now, as he heard from his father, but there was no doubt in Ron's mind that she was an evil witch and probably abused her power. She mingled with the other Death Eaters, floating around like a painfully pink butterfly. He watched her associates breath a sigh of relief whenever she decided they were too boring to talk to so she swept away to find new victims. Ron observed her movements, eyeing the gold necklace that popped out with all the colors she was wearing.

He made the mistake of making eye contact with her, and the mess of pink fluttered towards him, smiling widely, her slanted eyes smiling at him like a jester would.

"Mr. Weasley, what an awfully nice surprise! I wouldn't except a wizard of your … _rank_… to be at such an event!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

"That's an eye-catching necklace, Ms. Umbridge," Ron forced him to sputter out.

"Oh, this thing? It's an artifact that's been handed down from member to member in my family's Pureblood line for some time now," she said proudly.

"Really? What does the S stand for?" Ron asked cheekily. Having seen it at a closer distance, the truth was hard to ignore. It looked very similar to the locket that Harry and he stumbled upon in one of the dirty corners of Harry's godfather's house. When they guessed that it might be one of the Horcruxes, they were disappointed to find that it was missing from where they hid it. Harry suspected that Kreacher had something to do with the theft, but Kreacher denied the accusation with enthusiasm.

"The S? It stands for Selwyn, the family name. It's an heirloom, an outstanding bit of proof of my Pureblood status. Why, what did you think it meant, my dear?" she asked sweetly, throwing daggers at Ron with her eyes. He could tell she practiced the excuse, seeing as many people probably asked her the same question and eyed her with the same doubt. How far could people go to hide their true identities? Just as the Dark Lord did, just as Professor Snape did, just as she did.

"Oh, the boys at Hogwarts used to tell tales all the time – hidden pathways, maps that could tell you where anyone was, mirrors that told you what you wanted in life – and among those frivolous tales was the one about the founders of Hogwarts, how they created objects that represented who they were," Ron explained, telling half lies and half truths. Boys at Hogwarts didn't care for these stories, but Hermione did, and she informed him of them when she cared to. He was only repeating information he was told once before.

"That's very interesting," Umbridge said through her teeth. "And you assume that this locket must have been created by Salazar Slytherin himself?" She was getting as red as tomato, whether it was by embarrassment or the glass of wine in her hand, or both.

"Oh, no, no, no. I was simply observing. You know how boys are with stories – we've got big imaginations and lots of time during the school year. I'm feeling quite out-casted right now, so I thought it would be nice to extend the length of our conversation, that's all," Ron said, his smile revealing his disbelief and mockery at her lies.

"Have a good evening, Mr. Weasley," the short woman said curtly, swishing away.

Ron sat back, smiling. Without even trying, he found one of the Horcruxes. The only problem was finding a way to pull it away from that wretched woman. He could figure that part later – he had a party to deal with. He continued listening on the murmur of chitchat that buzzed all around the room. He picked up names and dates and stored the information somewhere in the back of his mind, alongside the Quidditch plays that he remember so well.

"Be careful, Weasley," Draco warned, sipping his wine.

"I know what I'm doing," Ron replied, without a glance at the slightly tipsy blonde.

"Do you really?" Draco asked, mirroring his mother's question.

Ron paused, thinking about the question and then answering with confidence.

"Yes. Yes, I do."

Ron watched Draco's father leave the room suddenly, nearly damn skipping. The Dark Lord had finally arrived.

* * *

The small conversations ended when Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy entered the room, elegant and composed, arms intertwined, followed by Bellatrix Lestrange, who looked odd and handsome. They announced the arrival of the Dark Lord, and the room full of wizards and witches fell to their knees, bowing to their great Master.

"Welcome, my friends," the Dark Lord said, his voice filling the room like heavy air. He glided among the room of adoring followers, briefly touching people's heads and shoulders, exchanging a few words with certain individuals, smiling in the only way he could.

He glided all around the room, before stopping at the part of the dinner table where Draco and Ron were sitting. Ron's blood went cold when he saw the pale, snake-like, dark wizard capture the room's attention. His voice flew away when he saw the Death Eaters bend at their Master's entrance, dirtying their robes with the dust on the ground. Even Draco jumped from his seat and bowed. Ron was too stunned to leave his seat.

He simply stared as the Dark Lord hovered towards him, tilting his head and moving his fingers around like a sinister bad guy in a horrible Muggle cartoon comic, the kind that Harry used to carry around. He nearly pissed his pants when those red eyes locked with his – it was almost like he couldn't breathe on his own anymore.

"This, I did not expect," the Dark Lord said, laughing aloud. Ron gulped when his laughter was followed by the echoes of the forced laughter of the other witches and wizards. It was an orchestra of the worst kind of music, of cacophony.

Ron felt his leg being constricted and nearly jumped from his own seat when he saw the head of the Dark Lord's pet snake, Nagini, crawl into his lap and glide up his chest.

"Poor boy," cooed the Dark Lord, hissing words to Nagini, who quickly slid down Ron's body and returned to her master's shoulders.

The Dark Lord turned and addressed the congregation, saying, "Let the celebration begin!"

The Death Eaters stood up, cheering and shouting, spilling the wine from their glasses. The music started in the background, its sound bouncing off the walls of the room, little notes floating in the air, trapped by its confines.

Ron sat in horror at the sight, his heart dropping to his feet.

Draco, watching the pasty redhead's face turn whiter than his, poured another glass of wine and placed the drink in the Gryffindor's hands.

"Drink this. It will make you feel better," he assured.

Ron drank the liquid like water, feeling the nausea start to subside. However, the ringing in his head didn't go away. His head throbbed and his heart sunk, and his feet felt as heavy as lead.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"So you know how I feel," Draco said, his face cold and his voice silent.

* * *

The food was served and the guests ate hungrily. Exotic dancers and contortionists entertained the riled-up men while the women scowled at the limber competition. Voldemort didn't pick up his utensils, watching his league of men and women with adoration, like that of a leader and his people.

Ron couldn't ignore the hunger pangs, so he ate like he hadn't eaten in days. This was kind of true, he admitted.

"Don't forget to chew your food before you inhale it," Draco advised rudely. He was cutting his food into small portions and ate slowly, chewing with fervor. Unlike Weasley, he had class and table etiquette.

"Don't forget to pull out that stick you have up your bum, Malfoy," Ron retorted, re-focusing on his food.

"Disgusting pig," Draco muttered, putting his lips on his glass of wine.

"Better watch out on your alcohol intake. Would your father like it if you wobbled from the room like a drunkard, when we are supposed to take Harry up here?" Ron fired back.

Draco put the glass down. He sighed. He almost forgot about that part.

"Yeah, I thought so," Ron said, getting the last word.

* * *

The food was put away with magic, and the meeting was initiated.

"Let's get straight to the topic at hand: Harry Potter!" Lucius's voice called out.

"He's always the damn topic of the day," Draco complained. Ron chuckled.

"Where is our dear enemy?" asked Voldemort.

"Conveniently tucked away in our dungeons, where he belongs," Lucius said with wrath. Voldemort smiled, nodding.

"Time to roll," Draco said, pulling Ron up roughly by the shoulder. Ron stumbled out of his chair, arranged himself, and walked out of the room after Draco.

Narcissa, who was standing in the middle of the room with her husband, brushed against Draco's hands in what seemed like a caress. She gave Ron a loaded stare shortly before training her eyes back on the crowd of Death Eaters, to whom her husband was addressing.

"Who will watch them?" a Death Eater questioned. Narcissa turned to the random face and simply answered, "Pettigrew was supposed to be here, but its seems that he was reassigned roles. Besides, I don't think that type of monitoring is necessary. Where will they run to? No one escapes the Manor, not with their lives, anyways." She laughed quietly. Voldemort watched her eyes and laughed as well. The smile didn't reach her eyes, he noticed.

"So now that we have Potter, what shall we do?" Lucius asked the congregation, though listening only for his Master's order.

For once, everyone voiced their opinions. The room buzzed with words, electric and alive. Voldemort leaned back into his seat, loving the moment.

He was winning.

* * *

"Do you have the items?" Ron asked, briskly walking with Draco. He saw the transaction between the blonde and his mother.

"Yes, here they are," Draco said, shoving the miniature items into his palm. With a spell, the items returned to their regular sizes. The pouch was heavy with content. All the Horcruxes had been conveniently placed in the magicked bag.

Ron pulled the bag's strings and hooked it into his belt loop. He covered the pouch with his robe, checking for inconsistencies.

Ron turned to Draco, but the blonde quickly answered, even without hearing the question, saying, "No, Weasley, you don't look fat." Ron harrumphed.

They arrived at the dungeons, but were both surprised to find it empty, save for Harry and two other figures in another cell. When they asked what happened and how he had done it, Harry, that cheeky little bastard, answered, "Magic."

Ron reached into his robes, unhooking the bag, and giving it wholly to Harry, who looked surprised. Harry opened the bag, looking for Hermione's wand. His fingers caught the ragged edge of something sharp, and he pulled his hands from the back, licking at the bloody cuts that it gave. He pulled the offensive object from the bag and realized it was the mirror. He nearly dropped it in surprise when he saw the eyes that didn't mirror his, in the glass. They were a different pair of eyes – a familiar pair of eyes – _Dumbledore's eyes_! Was it possible?

Was Albus Dumbledore _alive_?!

"What the --?" Harry started, staring at the reflection. The eyes blinked and then suddenly disappeared, and the reflection returned to normal, to his emerald green eyes.

"What happened, Harry?" Ron inquired curiously.

"Nothing, Ron," Harry answered coldly. He wasn't so sure himself.

He returned the glass carefully back into the bag and fished for what he really wanted: Hermione's wand. He felt the thin wood between his fingers and pulled it out, feeling the magic tingling in his fingertips. He slid it into his jeans' pocket, hiding it with his long shirt.

"Enough, Potter. We've got to get back to the meeting," Draco warned. He blinded the wizard, as instructed, and both he and Ron pulled Harry along.

"Don't touch me," Harry ordered both wizards. Ron pulled away immediately, like he was burned by fire by Harry's words. Draco's hands fell away as well, though by will more than demand.

"Whatever you want, Potter. If you walk into any swords, it was your fault, not ours," Draco said sarcastically.

Harry scowled, though blinded.

"Where is Hermione?" he asked, not caring if it was a sensitive topic for Ron.

"She hasn't joined our celebration just yet," Draco said vaguely. Harry waited for Ron's response, but he gave none.

"I'm not going anywhere without her," Harry said stubbornly, standing on the spot, refusing to be pulled away in any direction.

"You'll see her soon enough," Draco said, not knowing if this was true. He shoved Harry, pointing his wand into the base of his neck, forcing him to walk forward. Ron walked alongside him, silent and guilty.

They arrived at the doors of the formal room. Draco lifted the spell off of Harry's vision, and they all waited for his vision to return to the normal. Draco shoved both doors open, followed by Harry and Ron, who trailed behind. In that split second, Ron whispered the words, "Shell Cottage" to him, telling him to think of it when the time was right.

The room became silent at their entrance.

Draco stepped aside, gesturing towards Ron to follow him. Ron looked at Harry briefly, sending a look of sympathy, before joining the Death Eater's son, who stood next to his father and mother.

Harry stood alone, gazing at the faces that watched him breathe.

Voldemort stood from his seat at the center of the long dinner table, and with voice booming, said, "Welcome, Harry Potter, to your death." He laughed frivolously, joyfully. He was joined by the other men and women, except for Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Ron. They didn't understand the comedy of the moment. There was no comedy.

The sinister laughter continued for five minutes. All the while, disgust boiled under Harry's skin. These faces – all of them – were the reasons why he fought so hard for so long. He wanted to wipe the smiles of all of these bastards' faces, to curse them. His fingers itched to grab Hermione's wand and give them a truly surprising evening, but he knew he couldn't. It would be a stupid and deadly move.

"It seems that I've been gone for way too long. Things have changed around here, and in ways that I never imagined. Imagine my surprise when I learned that Ronald Weasley, dear friend of Harry Potter for years now, suddenly became an ally of my league of Death Eaters! Ron, the best friend, turns in Harry Potter to my men, to my hands! Thank you, boy, for making my job so easy. And the love triangle, oh that cliché love triangle that always seems to make its way into all of our life stories – boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy's best friend falls for girl and boy fights boy, all for whom? Girl!" dialogued Voldemort. He twirled his hands around, emphasizing his point. "And where is the beautiful girl, tonight? The object of your desire? The _one thing you'd hate to lose_?"

"I don't know," growled Harry.

"You _don't_ know? What an awful boy," teased Voldemort. He snapped his fingers, and the doors opened immediately. Peter Pettigrew appeared, pulling a reluctant Hermione Granger into the room.

Harry tried his best not to react like the way he wished to. He wanted to run to her, to embrace her, and to whisper everything he knew he had to say to her, before all of this was to end, if it was to end. He tried not to shake at the mention of her name. He clenched his fists at his sides, shooting fire from his angry eyes at the evil bastard that was controlling them all like dolls or pawns in a cruel game of Wizard's Chess. Got your queen, get ready for checkmate!

Pettigrew, sniveling with his rat-like face, pushed Hermione at Harry's side, making her fall. Harry wanted to bend down and pick her up, but that was what Voldemort wanted him to do: to show weakness in the form of love. He felt Hermione pull herself up from the floor. She stood up, head upturned slightly, and glared at the Dark Lord for all that it was worth. Her fingers itched to grab Harry's forearms, to latch herself onto him, to subdue the fire burning within her, the fire licking at her insides, telling her to touch him. He was her bucket of cold water, her favorite solution to her fevers.

"Does this irk you, Ronald Weasley?" Voldemort asked, gliding upwards over the table that separated them and then levitating downwards again. Harry almost forgot that the bastard could fly now.

"No," Ron stammered. Draco discretely elbowed him in the side.

"Are you sure?" Voldemort asked, walking to face the redhead. "You don't feel _jealous_? You don't want to kill Potter for taking _your_ girl? Because you can, you know. I see that you've thought of this before. I know you have. Now you can do what you always wanted to do. The question is… _will_ you?"

Ron gulped. His wand was only a gesture away, but he couldn't do it. "No."

"But you've done so much already. You already decided their fate, didn't you? When you handed them over? What's just a little more effort, to finally off him? I never said you had to harm the girl. You can have the girl, if you'd like. It'd be sort of like a present from me to you, for your contribution to my struggle."

"No," Ron said, more confident this time.

"That's too bad, Mr. Weasley," Voldemort softly said, before stepping towards Draco and his parents. "Perhaps Draco will save her, if you want nothing to do with her."

"What about you, Draco? Would you like the girl? Sure, she may be a Mudblood, but she is quite beautiful, quite luscious. Tell me the truth. Have you not thought of her inappropriately? The girl is a singer of men's blood. She's called out to you as well, hasn't she?"

Draco remained as cold as possible, but he couldn't hide the blush that marked his cheeks. It was all that the Dark Lord needed for his answer.

Voldemort walked away, back towards Harry and Hermione.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot offer her to you, Potter. She's not yours to keep. Even she cannot keep you, after what I plan to do to you, for all these years. You will suffer for every time you escaped me, for every time that rat Dumbledore protected you, for every failure you've added to my record – **everything**. Did you not see this coming, your demise?" Voldemort approached Harry, pointing his wand directly onto Harry's scar, setting aside his black bangs.

Harry hissed in pain. He thought he could control the stinging but Voldemort's applied pressure was too much for him to handle. He had to react!

Hermione gasped, feeling bile rise. She couldn't watch this, not as closely as she was at the moment.

Voldemort heard her gasp, and said, "Silly girl, this isn't even the worst I can do to your precious boy. Would you like to see the rest of the show? Should I keep you alive to see it?"

Hermione couldn't answer. The sudden flush of movement was hard to all take in with the naked eye.

A spell hit the Dark Lord, sending him flying backwards, up and over the table, against the wall. Ron pulled Harry and Hermione backwards, telling them to trust him though as hard as it was.

The Death Eaters rose from their seats, removing their wands from their bodies, but they were surprised when the chandelier, which had been directly over Harry and Hermione's head when they were standing at the center of the room, dropped, shattering into a million shiny little pieces, which flew into their directions, nipping their limbs as they threw their hands before their faces, to avoid shards of glass in their eyes. Who dislodged the floating chandelier?

The Dark Lord stood up quickly and was about to retaliate but his wand was thrown aside by magic. Harry was confused as to how this was possible, because Ron had his wand in his hand, but was busy deflecting spells expertly thrown at them, and Hermione's wand was in his back pocket. He pulled out the wand, copying Ron. Draco could have possibly thrown the spell, but he was running around like a headless chicken, yelling for his mother, who had thrown a spell at her husband, who flew into the far corner of the room, bashing his head against the wall and then falling like a paper doll onto the ground, unconscious. She was too busy putting up protection spells in front of Ron, Harry, and Hermione to conjure the spell that threw the Dark Lord off his balance.

A house elf, clothed with a shirt and a S.P.E.W. hat, appeared in the center of the room, in the midst of the broken chandelier and threw another spell at the Dark Lord, without a wand. The furious wizard deflected the spell and retrieved his wand.

"You will not **harm** Harry Potter and his friends!" he yelled, throwing spells at the Death Eaters that tried to retaliate. Harry and Ron joined him, throwing off the dark spells that filled the air with green lights.

"GO!" yelled Narcissa, throwing protection spells around them. She grabbed onto Draco's robes and pushed him roughly towards Ron's direction.

Ron captured Draco, caught Harry and Hermione's grasps, and was about to say the disapparate spell but Harry tried pulling away, yelling Dobby's name.

"NO! We have to go, it's our time!" Ron said, pulling him back.

"Dobby! No! _Dobby_!" yelled Harry.

Dobby turned at his name, smiling, reaching his hand out to him.

There were so many green lights in the air, so many voices, so many spells.

Harry's eyes widened as he saw Dobby pull away, and the image changed before his eyes.

Ron had said the spell. They were no longer at Malfoy Manor. _But they left Dobby!_

* * *

They faced a sea, a turbulent gray sea. The skies were gray as well. Their feet sloshed in wet sand. Salty wind bruised their cheeks. Rocks faced their backs.

They escaped.

They were alive.

Harry fell to his knees, relieved, breathing, grateful, but mourning.

In the scurry of events, his mind flashed the moment he saw those beady, sparkly eyes stare at him, their message clear and concise, with that smile, that little culprit. _For Harry Potter, a thousand times I would._ In the background of light, they shone like stars, stars that could not be seen, stars that refused to shine anymore, stars that wouldn't shine anymore, not for Dobby, never again for him. Stars and their tiny little deaths.

And then the green lights, those damn green lights, those fucking death rays.

And then those blind eyes, those clear, sparkly eyes that dimmed in a split second. And that tiny little body, falling forward, hands outstretched towards him, asking for his grasp. Those tiny fingers, those stubby little digits that saved him with their hidden magic, asking for his help! Asking for his hand!

And worst of all… escaping without a fight, without helping, without saving Dobby.

He fell forward, the primitive howl escaping his lips like an eternal apology for not being strong enough, fast enough, skilled enough, for not being enough. Never enough to save the ones that saved him.

First his parents, then Sirius, then Dumbledore, and now… Dobby.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, but he felt it would never be long enough, to pay his respects to those who deserved it the most.

A soft hand touched his shoulder. A soft voice spoke his name.

He was a soul lost at sea, praying for an anchor.

She was there, acting as an anchor, a savior, and a catcher of souls.

She was there.

_She was there._

He growled, shifting, pulling her face against his, bruising her lips as he mashed them with his, not caring that his tears were marking her face. He grasped the back of her head with one hand, pulling her as closely to him as possibly, while the other slid down her back, pressing her lower body towards his.

He needed to feel her, to know that this escape was worth it, to know if one death reciprocated with several lives saved was enough to mend the rip in his soul that gushed forth blood that was not his own, but that of a friend, his savior, of a house elf that was more than a house elf.

He reversed their positions, pulling her under him, feeling every inch of her feverish skin.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," he murmured against her lips, whining and groaning. "I fucking love you!"

She moved underneath him, taking him in, keeping him close, and mixing the pain with the pleasure.

"I love you too, babe," she cried as his lips trailed down her neck, biting and nipping, with his fingers dipping into her tender skin. He stopped, looked up at her with his mad green eyes, and sighed, hearing those words.

The answer was in the sound of the crashing waves, the calls of the birds in the gray skies, the moan of the wind against their bodies, the squish of the sand on their skin, the blood rushing in their veins, and in her words, her smile, her eyes, her face, her body, her love.

Yes, this would be enough.

He would be enough.

For her.

Because of her.


	19. Part XIX

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary**: Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer**: Not mine!

**Author's Note**:

I've replaced the author's note with the real chapter. Enjoy!

**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!**

* * *

He's fought and he's fallen

He's on his knees before he's on his feet

A sinister romantic

Oh, he's about to be and she's about to see

.

Teachin' torches to burn bright

She's hanging on the cheek of night

A snowy dove trooping with crows

He never saw true beauty till tonight

.

She'll take him to the brink of deliverance

Show him that much

Oh, don't you know it

Oh, don't you know it

.

So he falls in love to feel that he's falling

She'll let him know his heart

Oh, don't you know it

Oh, don't you know it

**Layla Kaylif – **_Shakespeare in Love_

.

Leave unsaid unspoken,

Eyes wide shut unopened.

You and me,

Always between the lines.

Between the lines.

**Sara Bareilles **– _Between the Lines_

* * *

**Part XIX**

Ron felt the grains of wet sand beneath his feet as he and his companions apparated away from their place of prisonment. Draco pulled himself away from the group and sat on a nearby rock to put his pounding head in his hands. He didn't know what to make of the sudden twist in the road of his life. Harry stood before the ocean, facing the grey skies, breaking down in the beauty of the moment. Hermione stood not too far from him, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to approach him. Ron watched Hermione, realizing exactly what he so passionately fought for, and lost, in his decision to turn his friends over to the wrong people.

He saw the careful caress of Hermione's hand on Harry's shoulder. He felt the ghostly memories of those hands, that not so many years ago electrified his skin with their softness. He saw the heated stare between his two friends and felt the isolation that Harry used to complain about during the beginning of their prolonged camping trip of a journey. It was possible to be among people and still feel alone. This was a different type of lonely, the saddest type of lonely, the one that made him want to scream yet stole his voice. When Harry dug his hands in her flowing locks and pulled her over him, Ron quickly turned from the scene and walked stiffly towards Draco, who was far too focused on his own dilemmas to make a smart comment about the public love scene.

"Let's go, Malfoy," Ron muttered, patting the blonde wizard's shoulder roughly before starting the upward progress on the rocky hill that stood as a barrier between the sand and ocean and the grassy fields of his brother's property. He carried the bag of items that they almost lost their lives over.

Draco stood up and followed dumbly, stumbling over the difficult terrain and cutting his left palm on a jagged edge of a rock. He was silent. The pain was evident on Ron's clammy face, but the battle that was being fought within Draco was kept hidden. He was a Death Eater trampling onto enemy land. He wasn't safe, at least not yet.

* * *

Harry stared into her eyes and saw his reflection.

Someone once told him that this was a sign of being head over heels over someone. This was what love was; seeing one's self in another's eyes. Love, the one that Dumbledore said that he had and Voldemort didn't. Love, one of many things he didn't have while living with the Dursleys. Love, the feeling he thought he found in Cho Chang and Ginny Weasley. Love, the understanding he knew he could find in his best friends, his comrades, and his allies. Love, the curve ball that life threw in his face during the roughest chapter, pushing him towards the last person he thought he'd experience it with.

She lay beneath him, hair spilling onto the wet, dirty sand, with flushed cheeks, fiery eyes, and parted lips.Hermione, one of the few constant figures in his adventurous life, was there with him yet again, holding him as he trembled. He'd fight his way from hell and back to keep it that way. He kissed her lips like a hungry man in a desert who stumbled upon the mirage that transformed itself into an oasis. The waves crashed around their bodies, drenching their clothing with its salty sting, and bringing them back to reality.

"Harry, I'm getting cold," whispered Hermione. She threw her hands around his neck, pulling him closer, if it was possible.

"I'll keep you warm," he promised, sliding his lips over her neck, peppering kisses and nipping skin slightly.

"Let's get to the cottage first," she said, chuckling. Harry shook his head, protesting against her rejection.

"We'll get sick if we stay here," she offered.

"I'll be your medicine," he replied, laughing at the corny line.

"And if you get sick?" she asked, pushing his face away from her chest with both hands.

"Then I'll be needing a nurse to heal me when it hurts," he said saucily.

"You're a very dirty-minded man, Harry," she accused. She pushed him away, flinging the sand from her sweater and jeans before standing up to lead them away from the beach.

"You say that, but who's the one who gets wet when I whisper dirty little nothings in her ear at night?"

"Harry, please, let's go." She offered her hand.

"I love you," he repeated before taking her up on her offer.

Hermione looked up at him, squinting against the wind, and said, "I know."

She laughed as she saw the expression on his face. Pulling away her hand, she made a "come hither" gesture as she ran away.

Harry stood on the windy beach as she ran ahead of him. Her hair was flying all over the place, but he could still see her glowing face and cheerful smile.

He would chase after her for the rest of his life, if she wanted him to.

But he was tired of chasing her.

Tonight, he would have her.

* * *

The weather changed for the better, the further they traveled from the beach. The rocks gave way to soft green grass, and then to a gravel road that led to the homey looking cottage with its stone entrance and wooden sign, weathered and worn but still legible.

The door opened even before Harry raised his hand to knock. He was welcomed by Fleur and Bill, who ushered them quickly inside. They did not question them, because Ron informed his brother of their arrival.

The informer was nowhere to be seen, Harry noted.

"Oh, Harry, Hermione," Fleur said, fluttering over them like a mother hen.

"Are you the last of the arrivals?" Bill asked.

"Yes," Harry replied sternly, trying to forget those glassy, starry, dead eyes.

"The others have already eaten and are currently sleeping. I suggest you do the same. You look awful, Harry," Bill observed. Fleur excused herself to continue cooking dinner. Hermione thought it was a bit strange, because she never thought the beautiful girl to be so content and able as a housewife.

"I know you must be exhausted from what you've gone through, so I suggest you take up one of our guest bedrooms and rest as much as possible. Fleur will have dinner ready in a few hours. We want to hear everything that has happened," Bill said, taking Harry and Hermione to the extra bedroom. The Weasley stared at their enclosed hands, though did not question the public display of affection, and disappeared from sight as soon as he presented the room.

Harry smirked at Hermione as they stood in the threshold of the room.

"There's only one bed," he commented after taking a swift glance.

"Looks like you'll be sleeping on the floor, Potter," she said snarkily. She pulled her hand away from his and walked into the room. It was small but beautifully decorated. There was one window facing a forest, as well as a small closet. The walls were a bright turquoise and shells adorned the bedside table.

Harry closed the door behind him, making sure to lock the knob.

"I assure you, I'll be sleeping on the bed. You can too, if you want," he said, collapsing onto the soft mattress.

"We really should take a nap," Hermione warned, walking warily to the bed. If she got in now, he would take control and do things to her, things that would keep both of them awake for another couple of hours.

Harry untied his shoes, throwing them onto the wooden floor. He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his eye-catching physique. Hermione's eyes widened; she almost forgot how he looked semi-naked. His hands moved over his belt buckle, lowering his zipper, and finally pulling down his wet pants, which pooled at his feet. He stood in the middle of the room, almost naked, save for a pair of boxers.

"Are you just going to stand there all day and ogle my goods, Granger?" he asked. He ruffled his hair with his hands before stepping out of his jeans and hopping under the comforter of the bed. He sat up, waiting for Hermione to join him.

"Well?" he asked, patting the area next to him.

"Well," breathed Hermione.

"You'll get sick if you stand around in those wet clothes," Harry said, using her words against her.

"You just want to see me strip," complained Hermione, who was already peeling her jumper off her body. Harry watched closely, seeing her shirt strain against her chest.

"Feeling a little… _cold_?" he asked, breathing deeply.

Hermione blushed. She discarded the rest of her clothing into the pile that he created before taking her place beside him. Harry pulled the comforted over their heads.

Under the covers, Hermione stared at the wizard she had always known, wondering if things would have arrived at this moment, if Ron hadn't walked out on them from the very beginning. If Ron didn't leave, would this have happened?

They stared at each other, wide-eyed and tingling. Harry's fingers itched to travel down her side, starting from her breasts to her hips. She was wearing her bra, but there really wasn't any point in their function anymore. He could see her nipples, and from his perspective, they looked perky and hard enough.

"Come here," he ordered, bringing her close. She scooted closer to him, excited at the thought of what was to come.

His kisses were soft and chaste. He was taking his time, which Hermione wasn't used to, but she enjoyed nonetheless. His glasses were getting in the way so she pulled them off his gorgeous face for him. She could see his emerald green eyes better that way.

"Much better," he said, before taking her face in his hands again. He pulled her face close, sliding his lips over hers in a sloppy, wet kiss. He bit her lower lip softly, thrilled by the small sound she made. Her hands had a mind of their own as they traveled over his chest and downwards, sliding down his well-defined abs, tracing the V cuts of his hips, and finally playing with the waistband of his boxers. Her fingers slipped past the waistband, past the hair that covered him down there. Now it was his turn to moan.

He pulled her hands away, pinning them against the mattress. He shifted his leg, climbing over body until he captured both of her legs between his. He kept her hands in a tight grasp over her head. He could feel her body arch under him, could feel every inch of her. He looked down at her, seeing the chaos in her eyes, knowing her mind was probably going haywire with the forgotten sensations. He knew his was.

"I want you," she whispered, staring into his emerald eyes.

"Obviously," he replied, rolling his eyes.

"Argh!" she said, exasperated. He was going too slowly!

"What exactly do you want?"

She blushed again. She didn't like it when she had to voice what she wanted him to do to her. It was embarrassing and usually she was far too gone in the passion to care, but this time, she wasn't, not yet.

"Tell me, Hermione, what do you want me to do to you?" he asked. He lowered his face, kissing her lips briefly. "That? No?" He moved both of her hands into one of his, keeping her arms pinned above her head, He liked the way her breast pushed against each other when she was like this; it was almost enough to drive him crazy. He trailed his free hand down her neck and then onto one of her breasts. He pushed the offending material of her plan white bra up, brushing his fingers quickly against her nipple, making her gasp. His hands were so cold. "How about that? No?"

"Please stop teasing me," she whined. Her eyes were closed. Her nipples were tingling with excitement, and that familiar knot in her lower stomach was forming.

"I'm not teasing you," Harry said, defending himself. However, his hands were drawing circles at her hip, where the string of her underwear was. His fingers played with the band, dipping and pulling and letting go.

"I swear, Harry, if you don't do _something_ to me, I'm going to –" Hermione gritted her teeth.

"Do what, Hermione? Punish me?" Harry's eyes were sparkling with mischief. Hermione could only imagine what was going on in his mind. From previous experiences, this look led them to very dangerous positions.

"Ughh! Harry!"

Hearing her frustration, Harry held her hip up as he thrusted upwards, grinding against her heat in slow circles. "Is this what you want?"

Hermione could feel him, even through the barriers of their underwear.

"Yes!"

"Oh? You could've just asked me," he said nonchalantly.

"Harry Potter, if you don't _fuck_ me right now, I'm going to hex you," she yelled at him.

Harry's eyes darkened at her choice of words. "I'm not going to _fuck_ you, Hermione," he said.

"_What_?!" Hermione asked, surprised and even more frustrated.

"I'm going to make love to you, and then I'm going to fuck you until you pass out from exhaustion. I'm tired, love, but I'm not too tired. Are you ready for me?" he proclaimed. Hermione moaned, as he said this, thrusting with every emphasis of his sentence.

"_Yes_!"

"Let's get you out of these things," he said, letting go of her hands. His hands slipped around her chest, to her back, as he undid the clasp. She arched her back to help him with the task. He threw the comforter off of their heads and flung the bra somewhere over his shoulder. He moved onto her underwear, which he pulled down over her hips. Her skin was revealed slowly, and Harry had to keep himself in check. He lifted one of her legs, sliding the cotton off and allowing it to join the bra. He kept the leg up, hooking it over his shoulder, changing her position under him.

Harry looked down at her indecent exposure. Hermione blushed, pulling his face towards her own, lifting her body slightly upwards to kiss him not so chastely. Her tongue found his, and slowly, they reunited again and again. Harry shifted, amplifying the sensations that Hermione was feeling. He slipped his own boxers off somehow while he continued kissing her deeply.

His fingers traced her lower lips, making her gasp into his mouth. Her body went rigid for a split second.

"Merlin, Hermione. You're so wet," he said.

She closed her eyes, biting her lip as he slid two fingers up and down, making her shiver. He did this again, but made sure to make contact with her special bundle of nerves. When he focused his attentions there, her breathing quickened, and she started moaning softly. She gripped his forearm as she felt that certain tightening.

"Do you like this?" he asked, continuing his circular motion. She nodded, too distracted to speak. "Too much, I think." He pulled his fingers away. She nearly sobbed at the loss.

"Please, Harry, I need to feel you!"

"Then feel me, baby," he whispered. He unhooked her leg, repositioning himself between her widely spread legs. He pulled the comforter slightly over them. Harry, who had been teasing himself all this while, was more than ready for her. He took his stiff member in his hand, guiding himself into her slowly.

"_Unngh, Harry_!"

He slid quickly, suddenly, and felt himself sheathed by her scorching warmth completely. It was his turn to sob. The feeling was intense, much more than he remembered, so much that he nearly forgot to do the next part.

"Move, Harry. We both know this isn't my first time," Hermione reminded him. It was amazing, being filled by him again. It was amazing the first time, and it was still amazing. She hummed with pleasure at his intrusion.

"I'd know more than anyone," he commented. He pulled out, almost completely, before thrusting back in again, relishing the sensations of the motion. He missed this, missed her like this.

"Make love to me later, Harry. I want you, _now_," she ordered, thrusting upwards, meeting him, and matching his rhythm. He howled, with his head thrown back.

"I picked a good girl alright," he muttered, reinforcing his arms on either side of her face. He continued the movement of his lower body, picking up his pace. He knew he was hitting the right place, because Hermione stopped speaking in complete sentences, and was only throwing her head against the pillow, hissing and panting as she clutched the bed sheets.

"Play with yourself," Harry ordered, his gaze searing into her eyes. Hermione nodded, letting go of the sheets and moving to her breasts. She squeezed them together, pretending her hands were his big, rough hands. She pinched and rubbed her nipples, moaning loudly with the added sensation.

"Suck on your fingers, wet them, and pinch your nipples again. Do it, baby," he said, watching with intense eyes. He watched as she followed his commands. It was torture seeing those fingers disappear to the knuckle into her mouth, past her ruby red lips. Then she pulled them out, with a slight pop. He nearly lost it then, with that sound. His mind took him elsewhere, to a past experience where she bobbed up and down his member like a lollipop. The memory made him moan, as was what her hands were currently up to. He was still thrusting into her. He liked watching her chest bounce as he picked up the velocity and strength of his motions. He concluded that though her breasts weren't large, they were enough to be a handful, and so soft at the same time.

A fine sweat covered both their bodies now, as the speed of his thrusts was becoming not so orderly. Hermione's lips were parted, and small gasps and moans escaped, encouraging Harry to keep working, to make her louder.

He shifted his weight on just one hand, taking his other to where they were connected. He moved upward, finding that little bundle of nerves again, and began rubbing it in a counterclockwise motion.

"_Ohh!_" Hermione squealed a little before letting out a long, deep moan.

"That's right, Hermione. Fall apart for me. _Come for me_!"

Like magic, she did as she was told. Her back arched right off the bed, as she threw her head back against the discarded pillows. The new angle hit a nerve within her, and the orgasm rocked her system. Harry felt her milk him and after a few more thrusts, he followed her, shooting his release into her as he uttered her name along with a few curse words.

Hermione, spent, unarched her back, letting it fall back against the mattress. She put her hand on her forehead, breathing deeply. Harry pulled his now limp member out, collapsing onto her. Hermione welcomed the weight, feeling his breath against her skin.

"Now it's time to sleep," he said, turning her to her side before he sat up to pull the comforter and blanket over both of them. She scooted closer him, with her back against his front, and grabbed both of his hands with her own. She felt comfortable in his embrace, which was like a trap she didn't mind getting set in.

They were both asleep in minutes.

A knock on the door woke Harry up a little. He saw Bill's head pop in. He thought it was Bill, but he couldn't really tell. Hermione took off his glasses at some point in the beginning of their session.

"Harry, next time, please put up a spell. Though the other guests are probably all too tired to even hear the noise, Fleur and I are still awake and quite aware, and it'd be nice if you'd soundproof the room next time," he suggested, chuckling a little before nodding and closing the door.

Harry was too tired to feel embarrassed. He muttered sorry and closed his eyes again.

He welcomed the deep sleep that opened its arms to him.

* * *

Draco was lying on the borrowed bed, staring at the ceiling. Unlike the couple in the next wall, he wasn't having such a grand time at the new location. Sure, he wasn't stuck at the Manor anymore, but he was stuck with the Golden Trio and their family. He didn't which was worse.

The dull moaning and the constant thumping next door was enough to add fuel to his trail blazing anger. He was angry because his mother set him up, or rather set him free, without telling him how she would save herself. Surely, the Dark Lord would see right through the escape. He would know that the rascals were helped. The apparition barriers were brought down for a single night. She handed him a package before letting him walk away from the room. An idiot like Crabbe's father would have missed the transaction but not Aunt Bellatrix, his father, and most especially, the Dark Lord himself. His mother was as good as dead. It was over for her.

"Why did she do this?" he asked himself, wracking his brain for reasons.

Sure, she was his mother. Sure, she wanted him to be safe.

Why didn't she just send him away to a relative in a foreign country?

Why did she send him right into the enemy's hands?

What he told Weasley about the Malfoy family's status in the Dark Lord's regime was all true. Malfoys used to be top rank, but now they were next to scum. And now, they would be extinct, starting off with his mother and then his father. Then, the Dark Lord would come after him, to finally get rid of the family that always disappointed him, always played a role in his defeats.

However, the change of scenery was somewhat refreshing. When he stood on that beach, he remembered childhood memories of trips to foreign countries and their secluded muggle beaches. He remembered the caw of the strange white birds that weren't owls, flying in the air like Quidditch players, except without brooms. He could taste the salt of the ocean mist and felt the squish of the sand in between his toes. He could feel his mother's soft hands holding onto his as his father ranted on and on about how expensive this plot of land was, how he laid down so much for his family to own it, to say it was theirs.

But those were sunny days then, and all he saw now were grey skies. And his mother wasn't by his side, and his father wasn't there to stake claims.

He knew he wasn't going home for a while. He knew he might never see his parents again. He knew things were going to change drastically from this day forward.

But he did not know how drastically.

The future was an unpredictable figure in a misty fog.

It approached like a cautionary character, presenting itself as neither friend nor foe.

He was scared, from head to toe.

There was no other way of saying it.

Draco Malfoy was frightened.

* * *

Ron was having trouble sleeping. The exhaustion was there, the bed was there, and he was ready to fall into dreams, but things just did not fall into place.

He had done the right thing for once. He saved his friends, and an extra wizard, and they were all alive. When did the good feelings come? Why was he still miserable?

He sat up on the edge of the bed, with his head in his hands.

He was not ready to see the lovers on the beach.

He thought he was okay with everything, had accepted them as they were, and moved on, but the heartache told him that he was far from okay with things.

He missed Harry as much as Hermione. They were no longer the Golden Trio, the three of them. Now they were the Golden Duo and he was the lone ranger on the side. He was isolated, and so far, his best friend was turning up to be a Death Eater's son, who didn't even really like him in the first place.

If someone told me he would relate to Draco Malfoy over his friends one day in his life, he would called that person a mental case and suggested an appointment at the nearest psychiatrist.

But this was how things played out.

They escaped the clutches of evil and they were all alive, some more than others. The lovers finally had their moment on the beach, had their cottage, and their happiness.

The burning question was, _when would he have his?_

He had paid for his atonement. He had risked his life to save theirs. He had done more than enough. When would he feel the contentment that was supposed to come after the battle? He fought the war within himself. He made a bad decision. He fixed the decision. He had overcome the obstacles. He was the winner. But sure as hell didn't feel like it.

The sounds coming from the other room was doing a number on his pain, so he stepped out of the room and walked to the kitchen. He greeted Fleur and told her to tell his brother that he was going out for a walk. She nodded, smiling sadly at him. She knew what was going on without having to be told. She was not so old. She knew the dramas of young love. There were no winners; only losers and lovers.

"Can I join you?" Luna said, whistling as she stood at the door. He was already walking towards the forest. He stopped, and muffled a "yes" and waited for her. She hopped and skipped to his side.

"I'm not in the most conversational mood, Luna," he said, straining his voice.

"That's okay. Talking would only ruin the moment. Can you hear the sounds of the creatures in this forest? It's amazing," she said, staring wide-eyed and in awe of the environment. She didn't ask what was wrong with him. This was refreshing.

They walked together, side by side, into the depth of the forest. Ron wasn't scared. He didn't care to leave bread crumbs to lead them back to the cottage. He was too concentrated on other matters to.

"I just wanted to say something," Luna said, grasping his arm suddenly, softly.

"Yes?" he asked, turning his head.

"My father used to say that if things seem hard to deal with now, then just wait, because they'll get harder. And when they'll get harder, what seemed difficult then won't be so difficult in comparison. He said this to me when the kids at school were teasing me. I'm sure it's a universal truth," she said.

"That doesn't seem very encouraging," he noted. Luna giggled, shaking her head.

"It's not supposed to be," she said. Ron looked down at the blonde with starry eyes and burrowed his eyebrows. _What a strange girl._

"Then why did you tell me that?" he asked. He wasn't being mean.

"Because you look like you're having just a hard day, not a harder one," she stated simply.

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean," he replied, slightly confused.

"It's okay. You usually don't know what others are trying to tell you, right?" she said, turning her head and pulling them forward, into the deeper depths of the forest.

Ron allowed himself to be dragged, and his brain slowly processed Luna's words. He stopped, looking down at her, and said, "Hey! Did you just call me slow?"

She smiled at him, not saying a word.

She slid her hand down his arm, and captured his hand. Ron's eyes widened.

"I'm just trying your day easier, silly Ronniekins," she said, bringing back that nickname that his ex-girlfriend liked to call him, much to his chagrin.

"Please don't say that name ever again," he said, cringing.

"Okay, King," she said, bringing back memories of the Slytherin's taunt gone well.

He smiled. Those were the good days.

"Thank you," he said. He felt her tiny fingers in his giant hands. The feeling was new and old at the same time.

Then it hit him.

The something good was finally here.

* * *

The scene at the Malfoy Manor was not a romantic one.

The Death Eaters lay on the floor, stung and cursed. They all feel to their knees as the Dark Lord led his symphony of torture.

"Incompetent fools! Traitors!" he screamed, throwing his spells around.

"Please, my Lord, we did not know this was going to happen!" Bellatrix raved, clutching her robes.

"This _always_ happens!" he said, throwing a curse at her. She cried as she was struck, falling to the floor.

"Stop!" Lucius screamed. He had his arm around his wife, who was bleeding and breathing slowly.

"Don't you tell me to stop, Lucius Malfoy. You and your wife have always added to my problems. Why do you hold her so? She deserves to be punished! She is the traitor that stands in my circle! She has messed with my plans not only once, with Draco, but now _again_! She let Potter go! Don't lie to me, I see right through your lies, Narcissa! I saw what you did – _everything_."

The Dark Lord approached the Malfoys. He kicked Lucius in the face, making him fall on his back. The Dark Lord pointed his wand at Narcissa, targeting her on the center of her forehead. She trembled under his gaze.

"Enough is enough, Narcissa," he whispered.

"No, my Lord. Please, my son, my husband," she pleaded.

"Your son? Your husband? They are next," he replied maliciously.

Green light filled the air. Narcissa slumped backwards. There was no warning sign.

"_No!"_ Lucius cried, moving too late to block the spell.

The Dark Lord turned on the couple, facing the rest of the room.

"Let this be a lesson to you all – I will not tolerate betrayal. Narcissa Malfoy was a traitor to our plans, so she was punished. If you are the competent lot that you said you were, then you will take her example as the one to avoid. No one ruins my plans, and if they do, they will suffer."

The ruler slid away from the room with his pet snake. The Death Eaters picked themselves up and apparated away in pain.

All but one.

Lucius crawled to his wife.

"_Cissy_," he cried. "_Love, wake up."_

How much could a man stand to lose in a day? He could lose a son and then his companion. He could lose his pride and dignity, as well as his purpose to live. He could lose his heart and his soul.

He could lose everything, and gain nothing.

He howled.

_Everything, nothing._

_What did those words mean now?_

* * *

"Fleur, I just received some news from our source," Bill said, walking into the kitchen. He had a piece of parchment in his hands.

"What is it about?" she asked. She was putting on the finishing touches to her soup.

"It's about that Malfoy's mother," Bill said gloomily.

"What happened?" she asked, stopping her stirring.

"She's dead," he replied.

"Why? How?" Fleur cried, wiping her hands on her apron.

"The Dark Lord executed her."

Fleur covered her mouth with her hands, shaking her head.

"Oh, the poor boy," she said, thinking of the blonde wizard sleeping in one of her guest bedrooms.

"_What did you just say, Weasley_?"

Fleur jumped as a third voice joined their conversation.

She turned and saw the boy, hunched and clenching his fists.

"Your mother is dead, Draco," Bill declared. He handed the piece of parchment to the boy, who took it with trembling hands.

Just as Bill said this, Ron and Luna returned from their walk, still holding hands. Bill looked at them, amazed. He did not know what was going on with these kids. _Who was with whom nowadays?_

Draco stared at the parchment and then at Ron. He shook with a surge of fury.

With a roar, Draco dropped the parchment and ran towards the nearest exit, pushing past Ron and Luna, who were separated by the blast.

Bill and Fleur watched the blonde's head disappear into the forest.

"What just happen?" Ron asked, confused.

"Something very bad," his brother replied.

"Should I go after him?"

"Yes, Ron. Go. _Go!_"

Ron stumbled as he made his way past Luna, who looked at him like a damsel watching a hero save the day again.

Bill, Fleur, and Luna watched Ron's red hair disappear into the brush.

They stood in silence.

Finally, Bill spoke up.

"Can someone please clarify a few things for me? Harry is holding hands and doing much more with Hermione, and Ron isn't. Draco Malfoy is Ron's new best friend. Ron is holding hands with you, Luna. And how did this all come to be?" Bill looked at Luna, waiting for answers.

She stood, wide-eyed. She simply shrugged.

"What is the world coming to?" Bill murmured, running a hand over his hair.

"The soup is ready," Fleur said.

Bill stared at his wife, dumbfounded.

"What?"

* * *

Ron could see where Draco was stumbling along. He had just crossed this terrain not so long ago, with Luna.

Draco took a left in the fork in the road, and Ron followed.

Suddenly, Draco stopped running, and Ron stilled his movement. He looked through the leaves, wondering why Draco stopped running.

When he saw the figures in robes surround Draco, Ron's voice left his throat.

"_No!_"

"_Malfoy!_"


	20. Part XX

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary**: Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer**: Belongs to JKR.

**Author's Note**:

I have yet to fix my blooper in a previous chapter, but I promise I will clear it up soon enough. It took me a while to write this, and it isn't as packed as my two previous chapters but you know... It took me a very very long time to create. I am so sorry to everyone who's been waiting on me. Life sort of took over for a while. I hope this chapter is acceptable in your eyes. And also, um, don't forget to …

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* * *

How many lies have you told today

Into the dark of your coffee cup

To cover up your footprints

How many times have I heard you say stay

Won't you let me tie you up?

With minor cords and smoke rings

.

Can anybody with truthful eyes

See anybody they recognize

Careful confusion is a thin disguise

And I think you're losing it

**Tina Dico** – _Losing It

* * *

_

**PART XX**

_Your mother is dead, Draco._

_**Your mother is dead.**_

_Mother._

_Murdered. _

_By the hands of Lord Voldemort._

_Gone._

_Dead._

_Dust. _

_Ashes._

Draco's mind rushed alongside the panic that coursed through his veins. He didn't know what made him bolt from that cottage, but he sure as hell knew he wasn't going to go back. There was nothing for him there, or anywhere.

He was drifting off to terrifying dreams when the harsh words of reality pulled him back, propelled him towards the Weasley and his beautiful wife, and sucker punched him in the family jewels. When he heard those words fall from that redheaded Weasley's lips, he felt his insides explode, as if he was a bomb detonated by the slightest irritation.

His mother was not dead.

His mother was alive.

His mother was…

His mother _was_.

He felt the tears burn at the corners of his eyes. They flew behind him like little reminders of everything that he was currently running away from, of all the ghosts that were finally catching up to him. They dug their invisible claws into his skin, drawing blood, slowing him down with their unbearable torture. They whispered the words he never wanted to hear, in his ear, biting and nipping in the worst fashion.

Whose fault was it that he lost the woman who brought him into this world? Was it Harry bleeding Potter? Potter always was a source of his frustrations, even during Hogwarts and the awkward time after. However, Potter couldn't be fully blamed for this catastrophe. In fact, he played no important role, for the first time in their lives. It wasn't Potter that did this.

Was it his fault that his mother was taken by the hand of that scumbag? Did he not fight back hard enough when she pushed him away, gave him away to his school rivals like some sort of cheap and classless birthday present? If he had, would events turn out differently? Would she still be alive, breathing, _living_? Draco shook his head. There was no time in the world for "what ifs", especially not at this time, not when he was supposed to be mourning the loss of his dear mother. It was a grave he refused to dig.

Flashes of his extravagant childhood burst in his brain, forcing his thoughts to roll about and accumulate like snow on a snowball spiraling down a steep hill. Her face popped up every time, crushing him with its implications.

His head burned as if Lord Voldemort was touching him. Was this a warning signal? Was that sack of bones and robes finally coming after him to erase the remnants of the Malfoy family line? Would he be so gracious enough to kill him quickly, instead of making him suffer through a terrible drawn-out ordeal?

He wondered if he had the courage to do the deed himself.

For the first time in his life, he wondered what it would feel like to be at the receiving end of the green-lighted spell. Could he conjure enough hatred for himself, in order to power the awful curse? Did he have the strength to point his own wand at himself?

He imagined his eyes, large and dry, terrified and catatonic. His eyes, the only thing she ever physically gave him. His eyes, the same grey blue tone that wooed many girls and saw the most despicable of crimes. His eyes, her eyes, their eyes.

He wondered if her eyes were opened when it happened, if she saw the curse coming, if she knew.

He knew they would never open again.

The thought ripped his soul into a million little pieces.

He ran through the foreign woods, not caring that the tiny branches and leaves were marring his pale skin with little whiplash lines, some of which stung. His tears slid down into them, creating pink, painful rivers down his face.

He turned left and turned right, tired and afraid, and at a loss of direction. The anger was subsiding slowly, and was being replaced with the numbness of acceptance and the maturity that life forced on him in such a short amount of time.

He encountered the fork in the road, the everlasting symbol of indecision. Which road was he to take? Did it matter at this point? What was the difference between taking the left or right road, when the end result always came down to the many miles he put between himself and that cottage and those people?

He shifted to the left side of the road and continued his pace.

He ran into what felt like a stonewall and saw birds as he readjusted to his loss of momentum. His headache grew worse with the impact of the blocking spell that he was caught in.

Once again, he chose the wrong road.

_Always the wrong road._

Draco Malfoy never did anything right.

_Never in her eyes, never in his eyes._

"Oh, look what we have here. Hello Mr. Malfoy, fancy meeting you in these parts of the wood."

With slack eyes, he stared up at his company.

Captured.

The look in Greyback's eyes was all he needed to know what was going to happen next.

It wasn't going to be pretty.

* * *

Ron watched the robed figures prowl in a circle around Draco, taunting and shoving him around. Ron couldn't help but feel a little sadistically happy that the bully finally became the bullied. The feeling passed quickly, and guilt replaced it.

There were three figures surrounding Draco. It seemed like one of them knew Draco pretty well; he was the only one that came close to his face. Ron tried to form a plan in his mind, but it was impossible. He was outnumbered at least two to one, assuming Draco would fight the third figure. He wasn't extraordinary with his battle spells, so he couldn't risk running into the scuffle headfirst. He didn't want to die, but he also didn't want Draco to die.

What could he do?

* * *

The moonlight penetrated the glass, drawing its reflection on the wooden floor, dancing in the night sky.

Hermione watched the tiny miracle with an eye as she bit lightly down on the meat of Harry's arm. He groaned softly, awakening from a short nap. She was laying against him, curved like a spoon against its companion. His breath tickled her neck, causing the small hairs to sway with his breaths.

"Are you hungry, Hermione?" he sighed deeply, breathing in her scent. He wanted to wake up to her, like this, the next morning and the one after that. He readjusted his arm beneath her head. It was getting a bit numb. He clenched and unclenched his fist, popping fingers as he brought blood back to his limbs.

"We missed dinner, I think," she said, blowing cool air lightly on the red skin of his arm. Harry hissed at the sensation,

"I'm sure we can find something to eat. Besides, looks like you're already resorting to cannibalism, Granger," joked Harry, drilling his face into the side of her neck while the fingers of his free arm rubbed waves into her hips. She squealed and squirmed, telling him to stop. Obviously he was in a playful mood and had no intentions of halting his games.

"Harry James Potter, if you do not let me go right now, I'm going to –" Hermione started saying. She flipped on her stomach, trying to curl into a ball so she could deflect his wandering hands.

"Going to scream? No one's going to hear you," Harry asked her, smiling mischievously. His glasses were on the bedside table so his vision was a bit blurry, but he could still make out her eyes and button nose as she peeked from her current fetal position.

"And I'm sure if I tried to jump away from this bed and run, I wouldn't be able to, because you planned ahead and locked the door with a spell I don't know," she commented smartly.

Harry chuckled. _This girl_. _Always thinking one step ahead._

"No, I didn't plan that far ahead, but good guess."

Hermione unrolled from her self-imposed cocoon to stare at his face openly. The light was hitting his skin just the right way. He was such a pale white that he looked almost angelic, despite his dirty imagination, basking in the moonlight. His green eyes were highlighted, sparkling and sending a message that she understood by heart.

"You're staring, Hermione," he commented, breathing slowly and deeply. His lips were relaxed, slightly parted, and the slight upward turn at one side turned his demure smile into something a tad bit more seductive.

_Mine_.

The word blazed in Hermione's mind like a tiny fire. She was never a possessive person, despite her status as a single child. She was the little girl who shared her crayons in the early years of her education. She gave out her favorite Band-Aids when her friends fell down and scraped their knees. She knitted scarves and caps for house elves without a single thought about how much sleep she was losing or if she was going to be thanked for her efforts. She was selfless where some people were selfish.

But _now_, at this moment?

She felt like the most selfish witch in the world. Those lips of his were calling out to her, like her version of a siren song. Her lips itched to capture his, so she swooped in and took what was hers.

She pushed her hands down on his shoulders, muffling his surprised response with her mouth, pressing against him painfully hard. She lifted a leg over one of his, capturing his thigh between her own thighs. She could feel the muscle straining to adjust to her attack.

A hand crept its way to the back of the her neck, holding her against him as they nearly knocked their teeth together in their haste to be closer to each other than possible. Hermione grabbed the tight white t-shirt that hugged Harry's fit upper body, making creases in the material. She played with its hem, pulling it up slightly with each caress.

She pulled away to say, "Take it off." Harry gladly obeyed, reaching with both hands for the hem to pull off he unwanted material. Even before he popped his head out of the t-shirt hole, he felt her hot little tongue play with his nipple, licking and sucking as she bit him to the point where he couldn't tell if it hurt or helped his current aroused state.

"Fuck – _Hermione_!" he cried, ripping the white shirt from around his neck.

"Did I bite too hard?" she asked, blushing either from embarrassment from being too aggressive or from the sudden heat rushing through her body.

"Not hard enough," he reassured her. "More, again… _please_."

She rewarded his words with a smirk before continuing her work. One of her hands clutched the bed sheet, supporting her weight, while the other dragged themselves slowly down Harry's stomach, outlining his defined abs and oblique's with a butterfly's touch. Her fingers danced along the edge of his pajama bottoms, dipping dangerously low, past the hem each time. Warmth shot down Hermione's body as his moans became rougher, deeper, and more frequent.

Harry nearly flew a foot into the air when she grabbed him, squeezing tightly before dragging her tiny fingers up and down his member. Harry's hands flew to his crotch in an attempt to stop her before she ruined it for the both of them, but Hermione, seeing the intention, ordered him to place his hands over his head and keep them there.

Harry looked at this girl, the one that was his friend for so long, and now she was _his girl_. She was a bossy and dominant character, but he never experienced _this side_ of her before. She was usually the submissive one when they played in bed. She obeyed his every word without protest, but sometimes intentionally blurted out the wrong things or did things wrong, just to make him punish her, like she really wanted it. But _now_, she was the one on top, literally.

Harry was impossibly aroused. He could feel himself involuntarily jerking against her palm. She told him to hold still, _or else_, and he didn't know if he wanted to venture towards the _or else_ land. Feeling quite useless, he grabbed her breasts, squeezing them softly and rubbing his thumbs over the excited peaks, earning him a slight moan from Hermione. Seeing that this behavior was permitted, he took it a step further and took one of those peaks in his mouth, lapping at it like it was tiny candy, biting ever so often. His other hand was busy twisting the other nipple, making sure that they were both benefiting from this pleasure session.

"Touch me, Harry," Hermione ordered, breathing huskily. Her hand was continuing its motions, coating his member with his essence. She was leaning over Harry, over his stomach almost, while she reached back to work him. Seeing that he could access her lower regions, a hand that was playing with her nipple slid downwards, until he reached what he was looking for.

"Someone's having fun," he joked, rubbing her core up and down, making sure to put more pressure at the bundle of nerves that he so proudly found on his own, a few times before.

"Stop touching me," she ordered now. Harry was confused. Did he do something wrong? He placed his hands above his head and then watched his best friend and girlfriend, or at least he thought she was or should be anyways, slide down him, engulfing him in a furnace of heat. His head slammed backwards against the headboard at the feeling. His groan synchronized with hers.

Hermione wasn't new to this feeling of being so complete, but this was a new and different angle. She slid up and down him experimentally, making sure this wasn't painful for any of them, before she let herself slide down completely, holding her breath as the pressure built.

Harry opened his eyes to find Hermione sitting on him, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, but she was sitting _on_ him while he was _in _her. The visual was nothing short of amazing. He waited for her to catch her breath before he started pumping his hips upward, placing his fingers on her hips to bring her upwards. He pushed upwards as she caught the rhythm and pushed herself downwards, creating a friction so delicious that she fell forward, grasping the sheets for her life. She closed her eyes, biting her lips to keep the noise from escalating, but soon she was humming with pleasure.

Harry sat up, though the movement hurt slightly, and caught her lips in a fierce kiss. She shouldn't have bit them so much, making them so red and enticing. He moved one of his hands, which were drawing his initials into her hip, towards that button of hers, the one he liked to push so much. He rubbed counterclockwise, pumping furiously into her while she continued moving over him, up and down and side to side.

"Bite my shoulder," Harry said. "We don't want you to be _too_ loud."

Hermione didn't fight, but did as she was told, moaning against his skin. Harry grabbed her hips and slammed her downwards onto him, so that they made the sound of skin slapping against skin, over and over again. Hermione felt the pressure building up in her lower back, which slowly exploded outwards so that every inch of her skin felt the electricity. She noted that her toes were curling, as she bit onto Harry's shoulder, muffling her orgasm. By then, Hermione was so relaxed she felt like she was turned into jelly.

However, Harry didn't get his happy ending… at least not yet. Hermione climbed off him, despite his protests, and made up for the broken connection. Seeing and feeling her head bob up and down on him was too much -- Harry covered his face with a pillow. She licked him like he was her favorite flavored popsicle, but he didn't mind. Harry tried to cover his noise with the pillow, but he was sure everyone else heard it when he lost control of his body for about ten seconds. He was very sure of it, but then again, Hermione got rid of the evidence.

_No one would ever know_, they told each other quietly.

* * *

Harry opened the door carefully; poking his head out to make sure no one was around to catch him in his state of undress. He tiptoed to the bathroom, waiting for a moment of relief. He jumped when he heard Bill's voice booming behind him. He tried not to blush as he faced Ron's older brother.

"Harry, something's happened. Malfoy heard about his mother and sped off into the night, towards the forest. I had Ron follow him, but I shouldn't have. It's too dangerous, and he was alone. Can you do me a favor and grab your wand so that you and I can find them? Hopefully, they didn't run into any trouble. If they traveled outside of our protective boundaries, then it's almost a given that they've been caught by _something_."

"Okay," Harry agreed instantaneously. He almost forgot he needed to pee. He jogged back to the room to get dressed. He tried to ignore the chuckling coming from Bill. It wasn't like he was completely naked – then it would have been an awkward conversation.

Hermione was sitting up on the bed, covered with the sheets, staring out the window. She looked serene, with her messy hair and bright eyes. He didn't want to leave her, but he had to. He also didn't want to bring her – he couldn't stand the thought of seeing her hurt again.

"Hermione, I've got to go," he said urgently, finding his clothing on the ground and pulling it on, not caring if it was inside out or not.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her tone escalating in worry.

"Malfoy's run off and Ron followed him alone. Bill and I are going to find them and take them back here," he said calmly, not telling her that they were all possibly in trouble.

"Is it serious?" she asked. "Should I come as well?"

"NO!" Harry bellowed without a thought. Hermione shrunk back, scared at his response. He approached her, drawing himself back when she moved away from his advances. He kept his hands at his sides as he pleaded for her to stay where she was.

"But I can help," she begged. She was already pulling on her clothing.

He stopped her, placing his arms on her forearms. He stared into her eyes and said softly, "I can't take the risk, not yet. You were hurt not so long ago, Hermione. You need to rest. You should rest. Let me handle this."

He didn't tell her that he would feel extremely responsible if she was hurt somehow. He didn't need to – Hermione could connect the dots in her mind. She didn't want him to protect her this way, in such a way that she was a useless doll on the shelf. She wanted to help him, but he pulled her out of battle before she even had a chance to prove herself.

"Just give me your wand, Hermione. I'll take care of Ron and Malfoy. Just go to sleep," he said on a final tone, kissing her temple. She nodded, surrendering. If Ron and Malfoy were out missing, she'd only be hindering Bill and Harry finding them if she fought.

She would not win tonight, but maybe another time.

"Just be careful out there, and come back to me in one piece, Harry," she made him promise.

She handed over her wand and kissed him before letting him go.

The sheets were cold when she climbed back into the bed that only an hour ago was so warm with their activity. She turned towards the window, watching the moon as it drifted, hidden behind clouds. She expected it to do something, like turn blood red, signaling an omen, a reason to go against her promise and run after Harry. But it did nothing; it just swam among the stars in the sky.

She'd try to fall asleep, but not having Harry's arms around her kept her awake.

So she stared at the moon, alone in the big bed, counting the seconds that slowly became minutes and eventually an hour. After a while, she stopped counting. She got out of bed and joined Fleur in the kitchen.

She couldn't be alone, not after what she went through at the Malfoy Manor.

Harry's absence only heightened her anxiety.

* * *

When Bill and Harry finally traced the right footprints by the light of their wands, they couldn't believe what they saw.

Draco Malfoy lay unconscious on the muddy ground. His wand was nowhere to be seen.

Where was Ron?

"Harry, wake up Malfoy," Bill ordered. "I'll go look around for Ron. It looks like there are at least five pairs of footprints here. Four pairs look like they're going in that direction. I'll go check."

The urgency in Bill's voice was Harry's indicated that Ron could be seriously injured. If there were five pairs of footprints, it meant that at least two were from Draco and Ron's shoes, and three others were obviously intruders. It looked like Ron ran after the intruders, or was he being chased?

Harry pushed the thought away. He couldn't handle the thought of his former best friend being outnumbered in the night.

Harry tried nudging Draco, but he wouldn't wake up. He thought of using a little shocking spell, but thought it was inappropriate so instead, he found water from a tiny creek nearby and splashed Malfoy with it.

Draco woke up instantly, alarmed and wet.

"Bloody hell, Potter, was that necessary?" the blonde wizard growled.

Harry stared down at the angry wizard and said, mockingly, "You were knocked out, Malfoy. Sleeping like the dead."

Draco glared at his comment, looking like he would attack. Harry realized his slip up and apologized, offering a hand. Draco refused the peace offering and pulled himself up.

"What happened here?" Harry asked, surveying the scene.

"I got caught up, and found myself surrounded by three wizards. I didn't know if they were just trackers or Death Eaters or just sadistic bastards looking for a good time. I let them dialogue, to save me some time, before Weasley jumped into the scene, causing havoc. There were so many flashes of light – I don't know which spell was cast by who and whatnot. All I knew was I was throwing spells, but they took my wand. Ron stunned and body binded two of them before he ran after the third figure, the one who stole my wand. They somehow got out of their restrictions and followed them, I guess."

"How do you know all this if you were unconscious?" Harry demanded. He had a feeling that Malfoy wasn't being honest about some part of his little story.

"They probably threw a spell at me to knock me out. Obviously, Potter," Draco replied, rolling his eyes.

Harry was silent, thinking about Malfoy's recollection of the events.

Something was wrong, he knew it.

"Are you absolutely sure they took your wand?" Harry asked, still suspicious. If he wears a Death Eater's mark and barks out rude accusations left and right, and is a Malfoy, then there was no way in hell he was going to take any words coming out of his mouth for complete honesty.

"Let's go, Malfoy. We're going to look for Ron," Harry ordered, gesturing for him to follow.

"I am not a dog, Potter," Draco spit back.

"No, you're even worse – a lying snake that happens to turn into a ferret on special occasions," Harry replied, forcing the blonde wizard to shut up with his insult.

* * *

When Harry and Draco finally found Bill, he was squatting beside a body lying against a tree. Harry's mind instantly screamed Ron's name, and so he rushed to Bill's side.

"Ron!"

"Shh!" Bill said, putting a finger on his mouth.

"What happen? What's wrong with him? Is he seriously hurt?" Harry's questions flew, but Bill answered none of them.

"Bill, what's going on? Tell me!" Harry ordered. He shook Bill's shoulder, but he didn't reply.

This was odd.

"Bill?"

"Oh, Harry." Bill's tone of voice was somehow _off_…

"Give me some answers, please," Harry asked.

Bill suddenly started laughing. Harry pulled himself back, knowing that something was _definitely off_ about this situation.

"_Bill_?!"

Suddenly, an arm weaved itself across Harry's neck, blocking his circulation, choking him violently. Harry tried to fight off his assailant, pulling at his arms and thrashing wildly.

The figures appeared from behind the trees, one of them being all too familiar.

"Greyback!" Harry managed to say, despite the constant pressure on his throat.

"Don't you just _love_ the night time? So many dark corners in this deep and dangerous forest – the best place to find trouble, and once again, Harry Potter, you've found trouble!"

"Stop thrashing, Potter, and I'll stop choking you," a voice whispered in his ear.

_Bloody fucking hell. MALFOY!_

"What are you doing?" Harry yelped out when Malfoy released him, but still kept a tight hold on him.

"Obviously, young Malfoy here made my job so much easier. Let's just say he took a page out of your best friend Ron Weasley's book and decided he valued his life a lot more than he valued yours. I wanted to kidnap him for ransom money, since his father is so bent on getting what remains of the Malfoy family back together. But young Malfoy here doesn't want to go back to his father! What a dilemma he was in! But then he promised to give me Ron Weasley, and I was ready for just that, but he didn't say anything about the other Weasley, and now you! Isn't Malfoy just a little bugger, giving me a gift that gives on giving?"

"You shouldn't have trust me so easily, Potter," Draco said sadly.

"Don't act so condescending, you little ferret. I didn't trust you a minute when you told me you got attacked. And I still don't trust you now. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, right? You backstabbing lot of lying, filthy snakes!"

Harry kicked his leg upward and then back, effectively knocking Draco down with one shot to the crotch. Draco slithered and moaned on the ground, wheezing out obscenities as he tried to gather his resolve. Harry then kicked him in the side, watching in sick pleasure as the ferret's eyes bulge out. He wasn't sorry, because Malfoy was a disgusting, lying little bastard and deserved it.

"I will deal with you later," Harry growled at the writhing wizard before facing Greyback.

"Ah, so glad that you noticed I was still here, Potter. Now back to what I was saying – you're coming with me to the Dark Lord. I found you last time, but you got intercepted in the process, so I'm delivering you to the Dark Lord personally this time. No Death Eaters, no testy Bellatrix Lestrange. Doesn't that sound fun, Potter?"

"What makes you so sure that I'll come with you willingly?" Harry spat back. He felt for Hermione's wand in his pocket.

"Oh, I didn't expect you would, so I brought along two of my friends. I won't mention their names because you'll probably never see them again. After what the Dark Lord does to you, you'll never _see_ again, if you know what I mean. Now let's get to it, Potter. Don't make this harder for yourself than you need to," Greyback said, his hands gesturing for him to get ready for surrender.

Within a second, Harry pulled out Hermione's wand, and with a swish and a spell, Greyback's friends keeled over, stunned and paralyzed. It was a special spell, one that he never mentioned to Hermione or anyone for that matter, that he learned from the Half-Blood Prince's potions book. He never thought he'd use it, until now.

Greyback watched his allies drop like flies and stood, impressed by Harry's skill. He had the audacity to give him an applause.

"You see, Potter, you're always full of surprises. That's why the Dark Lord bothers with you. We think we've got you cornered but you pull a trick of your magical hat and then _voila_, everything's just perfect for you. But don't forget that I don't need a wand to kill, Potter." Greyback bared his teeth.

Harry looked up at the night sky, only to curse under his breath. _Of all bloody nights, it had to be a full moon._

"Scared yet, Potter?" Greyback asked, smiling.

Harry thought for a moment, but replied with the only answer he could think of.

"_You wish_, Greyback!"

"Oh, is that confidence I smell? I wouldn't be so cocky, Mister Potter. You're greatly at a disadvantage. In fact, I feel so sorry for you that I advise you to take young Malfoy's wand. Two wands versus me seems to be a bit fairer fight. I wouldn't want to tell my friends of how I beat Harry Potter because he made it so easy! Now, go on, Potter, and take the wand. It might help you!"

Harry, realizing the logic behind the maniac's madness, took his advice and found the wand on Draco's body easily, only after kicking the wizard in the head. He stared down at the now unconscious body of Draco Malfoy.

_Like hell anyone stole it from you, you bloody liar. I hope you wake up with internal bleeding._

Wielding a wand in each hand, Harry felt confident he could do this. He faced death by the hands of the Dark Lord many times before – in fact, he'd been facing death for years. He knew he wasn't going to die tonight. It just was too premature.

"Are you ready for death, Greyback?" Harry shouted, his blood pumping with adrenaline and panic.

"I think the question is… _Are you, Harry Potter_?"

The werewolf's smile in the moonlight was devilish.

Harry dug his feet into the ground, getting ready for the fight.

Hermione's words came with the wind that gently blew through the scene, creating an eerie atmosphere.

_Come back to me, Harry._


	21. Part XXI

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary**: Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer**: Belongs to JKR.

**Author's Note**:

So here it is – Chapter 21. The time is near, my readers. The end is near. I don't see this fanfiction reaching past 30 chapters. In fact, I hope to finish this story in at least 9 more chapters. What a way to start an AN. Bad news. Yeah, I suck.

But here's some good news! About 16 pages of Harry Potter goodness. Excuse my grammatical mistakes. I have a terrible habit of using past tense when I shouldn't. Oh well. Sorry in advance if you get confused. I need a beta! Hah!

Enjoy this chapter! Since I'm on my winter break, I'll be updating all my stories a lot faster than usual. In fact, this was my second chapter written in a span on a couple hours. Yay for useless nights!

Once again, I will be borrowing a part of the lyrics of James Morrison's song _Better Man_. He is absolutely amazing. If you haven't noticed, I am heavily influenced by his work. If only I could meet him! =]

**Don't forget to** **REVIEW**!

* * *

Under the stars

At the edge of the sea

There's no one around

No one but you and me

We'd talk for hours

As time drifts away

I could stay here forever

And hold you this way

**James Morrison – **_Better Man

* * *

_

**PART XXI**

"I've heard of a bedtime story, Potter, that's captured the Dark Lord's attention. The Lestrange witch summarized it briefly for me, before I was banished from the dinner hall. It was very peculiar. I'm sure you know its plot?" Fenrir Greyback asked, twirling his wand within his long fingers.

"I'm a little too old for fairy tales, Greyback," Harry replied. "I've better things to do than listen to stories about treasures and creatures and magic. I've got a wand."

Greyback chuckled, pacing around his opponent. He wasn't going to kill Harry Potter right away – that would be so boring. He wanted to excite his friends when he recalled the night he personally carried Harry Potter into the Dark Lord's hands. His name would be written within the textbook of the greatest magical moments in history. He would be glorified by the insignificant people and rewarded by the higher priority members. He no longer would be that wannabe werewolf. He would be an accepted member of the society in which he lived, not an outsider that temporarily swam amongst wizards and witches.

"She called the story, _The Deathly Hallows_. Does the name sound familiar to your puny ears?" the werewolf asked in an almost chatty tone.

"People may have dropped the name and story from time to time, but I don't take its message to heart," Harry responded, complying to the game that his opponent was playing. He was lying; he knew everything that had to do about the Deathly Hallows.

"What is _your_ interpretation of the story, if I may ask, Potter?" Greyback inquired, stopping his circular prancing. He dug his heels into the dirt and held his wand straight down at the ground. His muscles strained as he held his body in that position. He wanted to unnerve Potter. He thought doing this would do that exactly – he looked like he was ready to attack, but he wasn't, not yet.

"It sounds exactly like the Muggle fairy tales with their morals and lessons. Don't touch the fire or else you'll get burned. Treat others like you want to be treated. Don't steal. Don't kill. " Harry leaned forward, letting some of his weight land on his forward, right leg. If Greyback was getting ready to attack, he wanted to be ready as well.

"But doesn't it sound like a dream, Potter, to have a wand that will conquer all others… the wand to rule all wands, the most powerful weapon in the world, the number one insurance for a successful life?" Greyback ranted on. His eyes fell on his two useless sidekicks. They were passed out on the floor with mud seeping into their socks. He approved of Potter's spell, wondering what it was. He heard of spells that attacked multiple victims at once – but it required a great deal of talent and practice to power such spells. He wondered if it zapped Potter's energy to make such a gesture.

"If one was to successfully retake the wand from its previous owner, he would only be the number one wizard being hunted in the world. He'd spend the rest of his life, as short or long as it will be, protecting a wand that is a lot more trouble than it is worth." Harry gritted his teeth. He was tired of playing this game. _When would Greyback make a move?_

"But then he'd be guaranteed success in every scuffle. What else is more valuable than the most prized possession in the magical world? I understand why the Dark Lord could be interested in such a wand. The only question is where it could be."

"Enough! Are you going to fight me or what?" Harry yelled.

"So eager to be captured, Potter? Don't test my patience. I may just go and kill you, and not let the Dark Lord have the liberty to do the deed. That will surely put my names in the papers," Greyback snarled. Harry could see the sparkled daze in the werewolf's black eyes – disillusionment in the lowest forms.

"And that will surely put your neck at risk, by the wand of the Dark Lord. Is my death as valuable as your life?" Harry asked, puzzling his opponent.

"You're right – enough of this game we play. It's time to fight or die. Is that your stance? Oh, dear boy, that's so poor. I could easy attack you from here, physically, and twist your neck like it was a flower's stalk." Greyback crouched forward, with his wand pointing upwards. "On the count of three, Potter."

"1…" Harry's breath caught in his throat.

"2…" _Come back to me, Harry. _

"3… _Stupefy_!"

Harry hissed as the spell grazed his skin.

"Cheater!" Harry cried as he moved from side to side, making himself a harder target to hit.

"You never said I had to play fair, Potter. You don't have to either, not like it would help you anyways. But you are so noble, the chosen one, the one to save us all. You wouldn't cheat, would you? Always playing by the rules, always toeing the red line, but always winning. What is your strategy, Potter?" Greyback drew one arm forward, guarding his neck as he swung his wand back and send a spell with orange sparks fly towards his opponent.

Harry, who saw the spell being cast, quickly carried one of Greyback's side kicks and used his body as a shield. The unconscious body convulsed under the impact of the spell. Harry dropped it immediately, before wielding his wand at his waist and thrusting it upward, sending a cutting spell right at his opponent's face.

Greyback howled as the spell landed on the left side of his face, branding a clean mark across his cheek and his eye. The cut stung and burned as tears necessarily dropped in reaction to the wound. He bent over, nearly dropping his wand.

Harry saw his opponent was stunned, and took the opportunity to lash a sand storm of spells his way. Greyback's body moved from side to side as each spell landed on different limbs. Greyback's wand flew away from his body, landing somewhere behind Harry's shoulder.

"_Enough!_" growled Greyback, who crouched low as he leaped forward, toppling Harry over. The wolf swiped at Harry's neck, cutting him narrowly. In response, Harry adjusted his grasp on his two wands and jabbed them upwards, temporarily blinding the werewolf. He avoided the angry werewolf's jaws and kicked his opponent's body, as he rolled up onto his back and pressed the soles of his feet on the werewolf's stomach, and then finally sending him flying. As he did this he shot two stunning spells at the wolf.

Greyback's body bounced off a tree and slid towards the ground. Harry caught his breath momentarily as his opponent pulled himself onto his legs and hands. He wasn't transformed completely, but still kept his wolf-like mannerisms.

"I don't need a wand to kill you, Harry Potter!" Greyback barked.

"So far, all you've done is cut me, Greyback. Where's the fun in this fight if I'm the one beating you up to a bloody pulp? How's that eye treating you, huh? Blurry vision coming onto you, yet?" Harry mocked.

The werewolf smiled at the taunting. Harry couldn't understand why.

A pair of arms grabbed Harry's feet, forcing him to fall forward. Harry kicked at his assailant as he aimed one wand at Greyback and the other at his attacker, simultaneously sending a disabilitating spell to both of them. Greyback was thrown against the tree once again. Harry turned for a second to face his opponent. Malfoy's name fell on his lips, but it wasn't Malfoy this time. It was one of Greyback's opponents.

His face was not familiar, but his intentions were. Harry made a quick job of stunning and paralyzing the snatcher, and putting him to sleep once again. He quickly turned around again, to check up on Greyback.

"Ron!"

Greyback had Ron captured with an arm around his shoulders and the other around his throat, choking him. Harry watched in fear as Ron slowly stopped jerking against his restrictions. His face was turning blue.

"_Har-ry._"

* * *

**RON POV**

I woke up, but I didn't know where I was and what exactly was going on. My eyes adjusted to the darkness when I saw the sparks of light. Magical warfare was going on, but I hadn't seen much green lights – no death curses, at least not yet.

There were a few bodies lying on the ground, one looking specifically like Malfoy. My brother Bill was sitting nearby, looking dazed and out of it. I figured he was under some spell, so I crawled over to where he was, and tried a couple times to lift whatever spell was taking control of him.

"Bill, it's Ron, your little brother. Wake up. Come back. Please," I whispered in his ear, shaking his shoulders roughly.

I don't know how Dark curses work, and how powerful they may be, but my brother was not waking up to his senses. He just sat dazed and confused, mouth open and wand laying like trash between his sprawled legs.

_What the hell happened here?_

"_Stupefy!_"

That voice was familiar. Who was that?

"_Enough, Harry Potter!_"

My head turned quickly – and yes, my suspicions were proven. Harry was fighting another opponent of his, and it looked like he was winning by a long shot.

I scrambled around on the ground, looking for my wand, but I couldn't find it in the grass. As I was shuffling around blindly, Harry's opponent was flung at the base of the tree I was nearby and slid downwards. I crawled backwards into the shadows and observed.

It was that werewolf, that snatcher, that wannabe Death Eater. _Greyback_.

I wondered to myself, _how did he find Harry again? _And then I realized who Harry was probably looking for, and that would be me. How many times would I lead Harry to battle, and leave him as the sole warrior, because I was passed out somewhere, being useless?

I could only guess what Greyback wanted to do with Harry. Probably some variation of kidnapping him and selling him off to the Dark Lord for gold or eternal membership of the Death Eater Club or whatever creatures like him desired in life.

I really needed to help Harry. Though his opponent was crushed by the blows of the spells, I also took into account that this opponent was probably a lot stronger than any wizard, with or without a wand. He didn't seem to wielding any wand – I assessed the risk and continued to search for my wand. My fingers circled around something that resembled a wand, so I quickly picked it up, but I was stupid – I let myself be seen.

Greyback hauled me up and proceeded to suffocate me with his arms. I grabbed at his limbs, scratching him with my nails as I tried to pluck his hold off my precious neck. He yelled at Harry, who realized what was going on.

"Ron!"

My throat burned as I was allowed short gasps of breath. My mind grew weary and dizzy as I started losing air circulation. The werewolf increased his pressure, making his gasp in shock as it felt like everything in me was suddenly being squeezed out.

"_Har-ry_" I managed to breathe out.

The wand within my grasp was staring to slip. It felt like I didn't even have the power to stretch my arm. My eye lids felt so heavy. Panic stopped rushing through my veins. Instead, a calm numbness replaced the frantic flowing of my blood. I felt so incredibly sleepy.

_Was this the way I would go? Being choked to death?_

I wondered if my last thought would be about how lame my death would be.

I tried again, vainly, to pry the werewolf's iron grasp on my air supply.

My eye lids drooped dangerously, and I couldn't even muster out a tiny sound.

_Why wasn't Harry doing anything to help me?_

_Was he going to let me be killed?_

…

_Was this how I would end, without Harry's help?_

The questions blended into a singular _why_, as I think I started losing consciousness. I didn't see any light at the end of a tunnel or a cave or anything of that sort. I couldn't see anything, for that matter. But I could hear little tid bits.

I think I was dropped.

Something very muddy and dirty was pressed against my cheek. The pressure was alleviated.

But it was time to go to sleep.

Sleep is good. Sleep is great.

_Sleep, that's what I was going to do.

* * *

_**BILL POV**

I felt stupid, leaving Harry to watch over Malfoy like that. I knew Harry didn't trust Malfoy one bit – and I agreed with the boy with that notion – but there was no doubt in my mind that if the blonde wizard attempted an attack, Harry would quickly dislodge him.

But that's not the whole reason why I felt stupid. I was wandering off in the woods, by myself. Harry didn't know where I was, didn't know how to contact me, and had no idea how to get around these parts of the land. Hell, I wasn't even too sure myself. Everything started to look the same, as if I was walking in circles.

I stumbled upon some lost wizards huddling close around a flame. It felt a little odd, seeing as it was absolutely freezing outside and they wore the thinnest robes, but I let the detail slip. If they stayed here long enough, they would have seen Ron and his attackers.

It slipped my mind that these people could be his attackers.

I didn't want to even think that maybe my little brother was dead or captured. There was no time in wasting my thoughts on such draining possibilities. I could only try looking for him with an optimistic attitude. It would benefit both of us in the long run.

"Hello, there," I said, introducing myself to the band of wizards. I approached them as friendly as possible.

"Hello," the leader of the pack replied, standing up. He side stepped past the fire and shook my hand. "Would you like to join our group? We've been lost in these woods for the past few hours and decided it was best to stay put and stay warm and wait for rescue."

"That's a shame. I'm terribly sorry. I had a question to ask you. Did you see a red-headed boy, quite tall and thin, running around these parts of the wood?" I asked, fidgeting with my wand in my pocket. I couldn't tell whether to trust these strangers or not. I didn't want to alarm them if I suddenly pulled out my wand and demanded to know the whereabouts of my brother.

"Why, of course, we have. He's sitting right there, right against that tree. He's been through so much – he needs some rest. Why don't you go talk to him and see if he can find his way home? We would like to get some help as well."

I thanked the stranger for finding Ron, and promised I would help them find their way, as well. I approached my brother and peppered his cheek with some baby slaps. He didn't wake up.

_Strange._

I tried calling out his name, twisting his ears, and even tickling him, but he was still knocked out. He must have been really tired from the chase.

Then the light bulb flashed in my head almost too late. In my blind instinct to trust a band of weary campers, I forgot that there were four pairs of footprints that exited the area where I left Harry. This small band of "lost" wanderers was compromised of a leader and two lackeys, plus Ron.

_How could I let my guard down? Damnit!_

The spell was cast before I could even turn around to face the leader of the pack.

It was as if a veil covered my face, hindering my vision but not my other senses. If anything, my hearing was heightened.

_Do as I say! _a voice boomed.

No.

_If you value your life…_

Leave me be!

_A boy will find his way to us. You are someone he knows. You must distract him, while he wait to attack. You must help us._

I will not let you hurt Harry!

_Whose life do you favor more? Your brother's, your flesh and blood? Or this boy, this "chosen one"? _

I will not let you take anyone's life!

_Do as I say and you will get to keep yours!_

**No! Let me be! **

_Do as I say, now!_

Over my dead body!

_That can be arranged. _

A second spell was cast, and I felt… _paralyzed_ of some sort. I used to feel my movements as I protested the voice. Now, I was stuck. I was just a voice fighting against the veil that shrouded my vision and the constraints that locked my limbs until my limbs moved out of my own accord.

_You will do as I say. That is final._

The voice faded away, and then something strange happened.

I could hear Harry's voice, calling out my name. It was as if I was at one end of a Quidditch pitch and he was at the other – I could barely make out his words. But I could hear my name clearly.

Then there was a lot of scuffling and murmured screaming and dull flashes. In my daze, I could only take in the low quality intensity of the fight.

My body was still moving on its own, but I willed myself to stay still. This way, I couldn't hurt Harry, not like whatever that voice wanted me to.

Then, I heard another familiar voice, that of which was my brother's.

_Bill, come back. Wake up. It's Ron. It's your little brother. Wake up. _

The words vibrated in the air, leaving an electrical aftermath. I think my fingers were twitching. I couldn't be so sure. The veil was so thick. I couldn't lift it.

_Ron! _I wanted to scream out loud, but I could only think them.

_I can't wake up! _

_Help me!_

_Harry!_

_Ron!_

Ron's voice left me, until I was all by myself.

The veil stayed where it was.

And I stayed where I was, dazed and blinded and incompetent.

I kept fighting to push that veil off me. With each attempt, I was a step closer to ripping that veil and regaining control of my mind and body. I was so close.

I had to save my brother and his best friend.

I had to.

For all of us.

* * *

**HARRY POV**

I threw myself at the werewolf so he would drop Ron and let him breath. Ron felt like a hallow doll, landing ungracefully on the ground, sprawled and disjointed.

I slammed Greyback against the tree, hissing foul words as I jabbed my wands into his side and sent spell after spell into his body.

Greyback spasmed against the tree, howling on and off. He tried to headbutt me, but I dodged his grasp. I would not let him hurt me anymore – he had done enough damage to both Bill and Ron. It was time to end this.

"Aarrgh!" I heard someone say behind me. I couldn't face my second attacker – I was too busy focusing on draining the energy out of Greyback. I waited for the blow or any spell – wishing stupidly that I wasn't about to get AK'd.

The attack never came.

I turned my head and saw that Bill had his guard up again, and was okay again. The dazed look in his eyes was being replaced with understanding and resolve. He waved his wand around, trying to get some feeling back into his fingers. He nodded and walked up to me, asking if I needed any help.

"You won't believe how happy I am to see you again, Bill. Where have you been?" I joked around. He pushed me aside and took care of Greyback and his side kicks. They were body-binded perfectly and levitated, at the swing of Bill's wand.

"What about Malfoy?" I asked, staring at the bulk that I treated like a kicking bag not so long ago.

"I figured we could let him sit out here, you know. Let him bake in the sun so he can get a little tan. Merlin knows he needs it," Bill said.

"Do you really think that's safe? He could run and tell the wrong people about your cottage," I reminded him.

"Does he still have his wand?" Bill asked as he arranged the bodies in the air.

"No. I stole it from him. I think I'm keeping it for now. He can't be trusted." I fingered the wand in my pocket. It was definitely different from Hermione's, the one I had adjusted to.

"Good idea. I'll take him as well. I'll make sure to blind him and silence him as well. Wandless, blind, and mute … how could anyone run away in that condition, or function anyway." Bill did as he said he would, lifting Malfoy's body off the ground to join the others. "I really hope they don't mind to mind-splitting headaches. There are a lot of trees around here, low branches and all."

We were missing one last person.

My mind wandered to Ron, who was still hopefully just passed out on the ground. His neck was severely bruised, but he looked like he was breathing, although a bit weakly. I checked for a pulse and almost shouted in relief when I found one.

Ron was still alive.

He was okay.

We were all okay.

Despite the fact that I fought this battle alone with multiple attackers, and some being my allies, I still had the strength to pull Ron up and carry his weight. I considered using a spell, but I couldn't tell which one was Hermione's wand, and for that matter, I didn't care. If I had to carry Ron bridal style back to the cottage, I would.

Seeing him slowly drained of his life was terrifying. I forgave him for his betrayal. I forgave him for wimping out on Hermione and I when we needed him most. I just remembered that he was still my friend, somewhere down the line, and that he didn't deserve to die the way he almost did.

When he is healed and finally wakes up, I will talk to him about what has happened between us all. I want to clear up the air and repair our bonds. It isn't a matter of who has Hermione or whatnot. This is a matter of saving the connections that led us all to success so far. I couldn't stand not having either Ron or Hermione around – and it isn't right if even one of them is missing from my life.

With each stumbling step I took with Bill back to the cottage, I felt the severed ties of my friendship with Ron slowly fix itself like a _reparo_ spell. I could forgive him for what he had done to me in the past, nearly sending to the Dark Lord on a silver plate and all. I could never really forget, but I could forgive him. I could do him that much. He already did so much for me – helping me escape the Manor with Hermione and the others. Without him, I know I would be dead right now.

True, he sent me there in the first place, but at least he recovered his fumble, right?

And I know he's going to keep striving in the future, to show me that he truly is sorry for what he has done to all of us.

Because that's what Ron does best – enough to keep himself satisfied, but more than enough to keep everyone else in his life happy.

* * *

**HERMIONE POV**

My heart was nearing its capacity of beats per minute.

It felt like hours since Harry kissed me goodbye. I wanted to tear every hair from its root. I was feeling that anxious.

I could feel the dread in my bones, of the possibility that he wouldn't come back to me. I wanted to squash the evil feelings inside me, but I couldn't. They were slowly overtaking my mind.

Fleur was doing okay, though, considering her husband had also been missing for so long. I sat with her by the chimney fire, asking her how she could deal with the stress.

"You just need to believe that he'll come back to you," she said. Of course this was what I interpreted. Her accent is quite thick.

"Is that all you do?" I asked her, pleading for some comfort.

"No. I feel scared. I cry. I try to calm myself by cooking. I do a lot of things to preoccupy myself. I imagine that you are the one to understand how it feels to be separated from the one you love for a long, variable length of time, not knowing if he's still alive and breathing, or injured or captured or bleeding or fighting. It's hard to handle the stress, but as the wife of my husband, I must, for the both of us. Because when he gets home, it is my duty to soothe him and comfort him and make him forget, at least for a little while, of all the trauma he just experienced."

I nod in approval. I wondered why I disliked the girl in the first place. She was very homely where I was not, but she was also intelligent in her own way.

Fleur was right. I needed to stay strong for Harry. He said he would come back to me. He never went back on his promises so far – he would come back to me, injured but in one piece, like I want him to be.

All I had to do was wait.

I excused myself and returned to our room. I took off my heavy sweater and leggings into one of Harry's t-shirts. They smelled like him, which did help me nerves a little. Though it fit Harry perfectly, it was a little large on me, running just to the middle of the thigh.

I hugged myself as I climbed into our bed. I pulled the covers up and tried to fall asleep.

I repeated the words that Fleur said to me, as I drifted off to sleep.

He would come back to me.

I knew it.

* * *

**HARRY POV**

Bill notified the Order about the incident tonight, just as we arrived at the cottage. Familiar faces popped up at the doorstep right away, stating their names and secret codes. The assailants were taken into custody, including Draco Malfoy, and the visitors left, almost as suddenly as they appeared.

Bill helped me move Ron to his room. Luna immediately acted as his nurse, watching over him and catering to his needs, whether it was a cup of water or some food to eat.

I smelled the blossoming of a potential relationship.

_Ron and Luna? What an odd match. _

But then I thought of Hermione and I, and they suddenly didn't seem so odd at all. Just perfect.

I wanted to talk to Bill, but I saw that he was having an intimate moment with his wife, right in the middle of the living room, so I coughed loudly as I passed through the hallway, stating, "Get a room, you guys."

As I retreated to my room with Hermione, I heard Bill say, "_My_ cottage, _my_ domain."

I chuckled. I stopped at the door, twisting the knob ever so quietly. It looked like Hermione was sleeping soundly. I didn't want to wake her up.

I pulled off my dirty clothing, stripping down to my boxers, and took a quick shower. I tried not to listen to the constant moaning coming from the living room. Instead, I thought of Hermione and how we must have sounded only a day before. It was only fair, I guess.

I put on some new boxers and slipped under the covers, taking Hermione by the waist and shaping her body against mine.

She moaned in her sleep, whispering my name.

"Yes, love, I'm back, like I promised," I said, kissing her cheek. I ran my fingers through her air, loving the soft texture of her waves. I brought my nose closer to it, inhaling deeply. I would have to memorize this scent, especially for the long nights when I'd be forced to be without her.

"You smell nice," she said, half asleep. She turned to face me, pressing up against my body.

"Why thank you, you don't smell bad yourself," I said. She smiled against my chest, punching softly against my side.

"Hold me, Harry? Please?" she asked, curling her hands up against her chest.

_What was she wearing?_

…

_My shirt?_

…

_I don't know why, but the sight was just incredibly arousing._

But it wasn't the right time.

We both probably went through a tough night, hers more psychological than physical.

And she asked me to hold her, like she'd ever need to ask. I scooped her body closer to my body, trapping one of her legs between mine. I grabbed one of her hands and moved it towards the back of my neck. She scooted closer, sighing as she felt my naked chest.

The t-shirt was riding up. I could tell.

_Down, boy._

Tomorrow morning.

Yes, tomorrow morning would be the right time.

Tonight, we would sleep. Just sleep.

Merlin knows how much I needed sleep.

Hermione's breathing was slowing down – she was falling back to sleep. I took the opportunity to place my mouth against her ear and whisper, "I love you, Hermione."

At least as she fell into the land of dreams and nightmares, she would know that I was here, ready to catch her when she woke up, frightened from a nasty nightmare, and to reassure her everything would be okay.

"I love you too, Potter," she whispered lazily.

"That's Harry Potter, to you, love," I joked. I knew she was tired, but I was prodding her anyway.

"Well then, I love you too, Harry Potter," she repeated.

I kissed her temple.

"Good night, love. See you in the morning."

I waited for a reply.

All I got was a silent snore.

I chuckled.

_Yes, this is exactly what I need to come home to. _

_Tonight and every night after this._

I pushed the thought aside, deciding to save it for another day.

Besides, I had all I wanted in my arms already.

What did a ring on her finger mean anyways?

_The answer was so clear: everything I wanted._

My eyes closed slowly, as I realized exactly how exhausting tonight had been. Tomorrow, I would tell Hermione everything that happened. And if Ron was aware enough, I would talk to him as well.

But that was for tomorrow.

Tonight, I'd sleep.

* * *


	22. Part XXII

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary**: Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer**: JKR. The End.

**Author's Note**:

I'm totally veering off from the canon plot as far as this story goes, which is a good and bad thing. It's good because I'm creating a plot of my own, but it's a bad thing because I don't know if Harry Potter will win in my story. Tough, huh? =\

Well, here's another chapter. Counting down the chapters till the end comes. So close!

Thank you for all the reviews. Thank you for adding me to your alert and favorites lists. It's an honor.

I hope you don't hate me at the end of this.

Don't forget to **REVIEW**!

* * *

Let's get out

Let's get out of here

I'll go it alone if I have to, but I need you there

And I'm honest with nobody else

Whether or not I make it there is will itself

And I'm honest with only myself

How I can't afford to lose you now, not in this hell

But I'll stay with you

**Cartel** – _If You Do, If You Don't_

* * *

**PART XXII**

Harry watched the waves crash against the rocks and the birds fight in the blue skies, smelling the salty ocean air. His hair blew all over the place, getting into his eyes, but he didn't mind so much. He could feel the chill seep into his bones, cursing himself for not bringing a heavier coat to this unplanned morning jog to the beach, or rather the little cliff area that overlooked the clean yet desolate beach. It reminded him of the cliff over which he sat by, at Hogwarts, which overlooked the lake and its mysteries.

He wished he was still that scared little wizard-in-training, unaware of the trouble that came with his scar and his last name, of the heartache of losing the people he barely got to know, of the anxiety over figuring out _how_ the Dark Lord wanted to kill him this year around, and of the privilege of being naïve about what it really meant to live his life.

He used to sit on one of the large rocks and gaze at the horizon, wondering where it went, creating adventures in his mind had he the courage to grab his broomstick and see what came after that line that separated what he knew of the lake and what he desired to discover beyond that point of no return. Sometimes he brought his beloved owl Hedwig to have some company, to have something to talk to, because no one else would understand the overwhelming feeling that overtook his body whenever he had the luxury of slipping away from Hermione and Ron to be with himself, to re-evaluate his life as it was. Hedwig was with him every step of the wizarding journey, from the day he ran into Platform 9 ¾ and met the friends he held so dearly now, to the intolerable summer days he was stuck in his room by command of Uncle Vernon, up to that last day, the last hour he had with her.

She was flying the skies as she pleased now. She had no errands, no tasks to attend to; instead, she was her own owner now, in a sense. In Harry's mind, he saw the spell that loosened her cage and made it drop so very high in the sky. He saw the final spell that hit her, spilling red blood on her pure white feathers. But they never retrieved her body, so he refused to believe that she was gone. She wasn't gone. She was just lost and liked it that way.

Her loss led him to all the others that died in this journey that he started months ago. They all died to save one person – the Chosen One – as if their lives meant nothing. The faces whirled in Harry's mind, creating a tornado of reasons to keep trudging forward, even if he had a plan or not. They were the voices that propelled him to take another step, to keep fighting despite the pain, because they did not die in vain and he would not either. The prophecy was spoken: kill or be killed. The Dark Lord could not exist if he also did; the prophecy asked him to be a murderer. With all the murders under the Dark Lord's robes, how could his assassination not be justified?

What was the phrase? _Kill one, save a thousand. Or a million._

But how do you kill someone that has died before? Do you stab them and do they relinquish their rights to the living world again? Do you throw a spell at them, push them through a conveniently placed mysterious veil, or even kill them with their most favorite Dark Magic spell of all time? How could he kill the Dark Lord if he was clueless with two wands that didn't belong to him, with a friend that was out of commission, and a girlfriend that he didn't want to place in harm's way?

Could he continue this journey alone, in hopes that the authors of his life had good intentions and kept him just an inch away from death? Could he leave Hermione and Ron in the dead of the night and fight the Dark Lord on his own?

…

Could he leave Hermione? The image of her sleeping form, cold without his contact, made him want to weep. She would never forgive him if he abandoned her. And he could not survive without her by his side. There was no compromise.

He couldn't leave Ron, not after all that had happened. He needed to stay so that he could witness Ron come back from the nearly dead so he could talk to him, to settle their scores, and re-establish their floundering friendship. Whatever happened to knowing that he had a guy to talk to about the wizardly issues that Hermione could never understand, no matter how many books she read? Could a lousy decision ruin what years of friendship and companionship built?

_Can I leave my friends behind?_

The question floated in his mind, but the answer was clear and concise. No, he couldn't leave them behind and continue on this journey on his own. He would be dead the second he stepped away from the cottage.

He stood up from his rock and walked back to Bill's cottage, ignoring the rays of the sun that hit his back. He would not speak of this morning with anyone, not even Hermione. If they asked, he would simply say he went out for a jog.

They didn't need to know. Hermione would never know.

He slipped into the cottage as quietly as possible and slipped back into their borrowed bedroom. Hermione was sitting up on the bed with legs crossed. She was looking out the window, shoulders shaking slightly. A turn of her head showed tears were running down her cheeks.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" he cried, immediately concerned. He ran to her side, kneeling on the bed behind her.

"I'm just being silly, Harry. I thought last tonight was just a dream, that I imagined you came back to me, that you whispered you loved me before I fell asleep. I had a nightmare about the Dark Lord and I woke up and you weren't by my side and I… I guess I let my overanalyzing mind get the best of me," she confessed, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"You forget that it's that overanalyzing mind that slowly made me fall in love with you, even when I didn't know it yet," Harry reminded her, jokingly tapping her nose with his pointer finger. Hermione scrunched up her face, giggling at his gesture.

"Where did you go, Harry?" she asked suddenly, catching him off guard. He stammered as he told her he just went out to jog. "This early in the morning? Did you need to get something off your mind?"

She stared at him with her honey brown eyes and he almost faltered, almost told her all that he feared and revealed to himself on the cliff overlooking the beach.

"Nothing, love. Just needed to make sense of what happened last night, which I need to tell you, by the way," he said, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. She looked at him, intrigued, but did not let him change the topic so easily.

"You can tell me anything, Harry, you know that. I'm here to listen," she pressed him. She grabbed his hand, rubbing little circles near his thumb, and he sighed.

"It's nothing new. Our lives are being threatened by a monster that's taken over the Ministry, and what am I doing to stop him? I'm hanging around this cottage, having a vacation. I – We need to get out of here soon. We need to keep going. This journey isn't over yet," he told her honestly. He looked up once, to see her reaction.

"I understand how you feel, Harry," she replied, smiling. "You're right."

Harry moved to embrace her, thankful that she didn't yell at him or chastise him for putting on another Harry "Woe-is-I" Potter episode. Why was he even scared to tell Hermione? She'd been his best friend since they barely knew how to handle a wand, had accepted him even when his peers thought he was an evil wizard and glory-hungry underage contestant in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and even was there when he faced his parents' gravestones. She was always there, at every major and minor life experience, but she never turned him away. She never judged him as quickly as his supposed "friends" did and always sided with him when the newspapers raved that he was a dangerous and foolish young man.

She was there when he thwarted the Dark Lord's advances at a tender age of eleven. She was there when he fell in love with Quidditch and flying. She was there when he first rode out the rollercoaster ride of his first crush. She was there when he experienced his first kiss, though not with her, and even tried to comfort him when he reported that it was disappointing and wet. She was there when he broke down after watching Sirius fall through the mysterious Veil. She was there to pull him back to his senses when he let himself be overpowered by the temptation of the Dark Arts. She was there the night Albus Dumbledore died, confused and frightened as she was by the fall of the greatest wizard of the time in her eyes. She was there when he revealed he wouldn't return to Hogwarts for their last year and even demanded that she and Ron join him.

Harry remembered the moment Ron walked out on them. She was there, crying and begging for him to come back. What did he do to comfort her? He gave back what she gave to him for years: support and friendship. He tried to soothe her nerves when the thought of Ron haunted her. Somehow, he taught her to forget about Ron.

Hermione stopped pining for her would-be ex-boyfriend, considering Ron didn't even ask her out and so they technically were never together, but Harry knew there was a boundary surrounding her. Ron placed a warning label on her, constantly reminding him that she was _his_ for the taking.

She was there when his curiosity got the best of him and his wandering thoughts and ever-present desire for anything remotely sexual happen to him led him to the distant image of her naked and wet bathing body. She was definitely there when he finally answered the calls of temptation and touched her skin and kissed her soft lips for the first time. And the moment their bodies joined together completely? His eyes rolled to back of his head at the memory.

She was always there and never stopped being there, but the thought that somehow, during this journey of theirs, he ran the risk of seeing her killed on the battlefield made his blood run cold.

Seeing her tortured to the brink of death by the Death Eaters was enough to drive him insane. He would have used the same spell that killed his parents had she been killed in his name. He would have killed everyone and even himself in the process of avenging her death.

But he didn't want to see her dead, or hurt for that matter, anymore.

She was too important to not exist in his world. She _was_ his world now.

And he'd fight ten Dark Lords, wand and tooth and nail, if he had to, to protect her.

He loved her, really loved her. He thought he loved Cho Chang, but the petty jar of firefly feelings he had for that girl couldn't hold a candle to the feelings he felt for his best friend, Hermione Granger. The sensational tingling and intoxicating feelings he felt with Ginny were nothing compared to the simply accident of brushing his hand against Hermione's. There was a connection between he and Hermione that surpassed those that he ever felt prior to this journey.

There was nothing more that he wanted than to just _be_ with Hermione. They didn't have to do anything special. She didn't have to put on a pretty dress and have her face made up and her hair tamed for him to just gaze in adoration at her. He didn't need to take her out to a cheesy café and use standard lines to catch her affection. He didn't need to do anything because she was his and he was hers and that was the only requirement for this new love he found.

"Do you want to start planning our return to the road, Harry? We can leave here in two days, with or without Ron. I don't know if he'll be healed in time, but I'm sure he'll understand if we leave him behind. What do you want to do, Harry?" she asked. Harry could practically imagine the gears in her head turning, the mental lists being made, and the amazing plans already in the works. He shook his head. They had enough time to put that off till later.

"I'd like to do everything you just said, but maybe after I do a little something. If I don't do this, then our return to the road will definitely not happen, because I'll be too frustrated and annoying and angry to focus on the tasks at hand. I noticed your attire for slumber last night. Very fitting, given it looks like a dress on you rather than a shirt," he said, scooping her up in his arms and laying her on the middle of the bed.

"Harry, what are you doing? Stop! We have to start planning!"

He ignored her squeals of protest and grabbed the blankets and pulled it over their heads, making sure she was halfway pinned by his body.

She stared up at him with bright eyes, anchoring him in like a lost boat being led to shore by a beautiful lighthouse on a foggy winter morning. The sudden upturn of a corner of her mouth lit a fire within him, and he knew he couldn't stop himself from doing what she beckoned him to do.

Ignoring her protests about morning breath, he took her lips without abandon, silencing her words and replacing them with small moans.

"You don't know what you do to me, Hermione, even when you don't try," he whispered, pushing himself up and over her body. He crouched over her, bending his knees and lying on his elbows as he scooted down her body and worked his kisses downward, from her chin to the region between her unbound breasts, down her stomach, and to the edges of her underwear.

"Harry," she whispered, with her eyes closed, reveling in the sensations of his roaming hands and worshipping lips. Her hands slipped into his hair, pulling roughly as she guided him even lower. He pulled off her underwear easily, allowing himself the pleasure of feeling her soft skin against his cheek as he got rid of the pesky material.

"Yes, love, say my name while I drive you crazy, work you until you can barely breathe, until you feel how I feel when you do the things that I love so much."

Months ago, he didn't imagine he could say these words to her. Back then, he was too busy gawking from afar, choosing to dance in circles around her than to face her and say what was on his mind. Instead he saved these words for his dreams, where he could take her whenever and however he thought of, and boy, did he have an imagination.

Months ago, he didn't imagine he would be where he was this morning, right between her legs, enjoying her for breakfast. He worked her little button with his tongue, flicking with passion, sucking to throw her off balance, and licking her clean, up and down. By the time the tremors overtook her body, she was in the state that he said she'd be in.

"I've tasted you, but now I want to feel you," Harry whispered, climbing from between her legs to lie beside her. She scooted closer to him, rubbing her naked bum against him. His hand slapped her rear, as he demanded she stop teasing him. She nodded and obeyed, but not without slowly pulling his shirt over her head, revealing just how little clothing she wore to sleep last night.

"Woops," she said enticingly. He growled in response.

His hungry eyes stared at the uncovered skin and the flame within himself was doused with fuel and set ablaze. He ripped off his clothing, not caring where it landed when he threw it over his shoulder, hoping to match her in nakedness as quickly as possible.

"When I held you last night, I found it very hard to fall asleep," Harry confessed, letting one hand travel along her skin, like a ship traveling in chartered waters, skillfully dipping with her curves. The other hand lay across her stomach possessively, pulling her closer so she could do nothing but rub her against him so sensually. "You were already dozing off and we were laying just like this. You were wearing my shirt, but it was riding up, and my mind was spinning slowly out of control."

Harry traced the skin of Hermione's thigh, dragging his fingers upward, drawing the edge of an imaginary t-shirt. Hermione moaned against the pillow, focusing on nothing but his touch and the way the tingling that started at her core started spreading outwards, yet again.

"I wanted to take you right then and there, but you were sleeping and you had knickers on. Then you started rubbing yourself against me, just as you are now, and then I really wanted to wake you up and give you reason to fall asleep… and the reason being _me._ I wanted to pull that shirt up, but not take it off completely, and slip off your knickers. I had half a mind to take off my boxers and rub myself against your moving hips, but I didn't… because you asked me to hold you. You never have to ask me that, Hermione. It's a given. It's my duty. I can't give you many things, like a boring ordinary life, but I can give you my promise that I'll always be here, to hold you like I do."

Hermione opened her eyes, looking back at him. "Tell me, Harry… what would you have done if I stayed awake for you?"

Harry's eyes blazed with intensity as he took her question apart, word for word, digesting its potential. Hermione never responded when he talked to her like this; she usually was too far-gone to string together coherent sentences.

"I would have pinned you just so, and entered you slowly and gently," Harry replied, rearranging her legs to illustrate his message. Hermione looked down at his arrangement and nodded in approval. One leg was pressed against the mattress, bent at the knee, while the other lay helpless against his leg, leaving her open and vulnerable to attack.

"And then what else would you do?" she whispered.

Harry smirked as his girl didn't back down from his challenge.

"I would've wrapped one of your arms around my neck, so I could kiss you while I rocked myself back and forth into you. Your other hand would be wrapped around the metal knob of this headboard, gripping so tightly your knuckles would turn white with my every thrust."

Harry caressed her arm, dragging his fingers slowly against her skin before grasping her warm hand and placing it around his neck. Her fingers grabbed at the wild hair at the back of his head, twisting and pulling. Hermione let him reach for her other unoccupied hand, locking it into place, perfecting her position for his fantasy.

Hermione watched Harry as he looked over her body, searching for inconsistencies, but finding none.

"You've got me like you want me, Harry. Show me what happens next," she pleaded with cloudy eyes.

"Don't close your eyes, Hermione. I want to see your every reaction – I want to memorize your face in this moment," he ordered, letting his roaming hands finally stop their discovering at her hips. With experience, he slipped into her, but at a new angle. He swallowed her moans as she took him in, letting him invade her like he dreamed, with eyes wide open.

He stared at her eyes, honey and a plain brown mixed with a spark that was caused by no one but him. He watched them as she slowly forgot as she was ordered and closed them, too overtaken with passion to follow his rules. He slapped her rear roughly, making her blink in shock.

Hermione's legs spread against the mattress with the movement of Harry's rocking hips, scissoring open until she found herself being pulled in a familiar position. Her knees were on the mattress and her elbows pressed against the pillows. Harry stayed where he was, pounding into her with all his might. She was being pushed forward by the force of his hips.

"Did you plan on this happening?" she asked coyly, twisting her head to look over shoulder at her lover. Harry took a moment to consider her question.

"No, but I can't say I'm disappointed," he remarked, smiling boyishly before resuming his movements.

"I'm not either, Potter," Hermione admitted before repositioning herself. She arched her back as she moved backwards against him, rolling her hips as he slammed forward into her, making a delicious impact that sent both their senses in a tailspin.

"Keep doing that and we just might never leave this bed. In fact, I'll tell everyone that we're out of commission for the day and that we don't feel like seeing anyone. We'll lock ourselves in this room and I'll have my way with you until you'll be begging for someone to rescue you," Harry threatened, slamming forcefully into his girl and then stilling his movements to let her form an answer. "What do you say, Hermione?"

"I say avoid the whole telling everyone part and just make a sign and post it to the door. In fact, you can just draw stick figures. They'll understand. I'm sure they'll leave us alone, and probably just leave food by the door every couple hours or so," she replied smartly. He smiled, but she didn't see it.

"Like I said, your brain was one of the many things that made me fall in love with you. Always spitting out the best ideas," Harry said quickly before he ended the conversation.

He had a girlfriend to please and all this talking was just distracting her.

He wanted her to be distracted by him instead.

"I love you, Hermione, and I love that great brain of yours, and that mouth as well, but if you must make another sound, it better be a moan, my name, a dirty request, or a combination of all three, or else your bum will be so red you won't be able to sit down properly," he said.

"Is that a promise?"

Harry looked down at her, smiling mysteriously, before saying, "We'll just have to wait and see, huh, Hermione?"

She nodded, laying her cheek against the now warm pillow.

"Whatever you say, Potter. Just don't stop what you're doing," she said.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry replied, placing his hands on her hips again.

It was time to celebrate being alive to see another morning.

Who else would he celebrate it with, if not with Hermione?

_Exactly._

* * *

Harry slipped out of bed, gently extracting himself from Hermione's sleeping body. The loss of body heat hit his skin like a bucket of cold water flung over his head, causing his arm hairs to stand and his skin to goose bump with a vengeance. Cursing softly, he gathered his clothing and pulled them on. He pulled on one sock but had trouble finding its matching pair.

"Missing something, Potter?" Hermione lazily drawled, twirling said sock with her finger. Harry sighed and gritted his teeth as he turned around.

"You caught me," Harry observed.

"Why is it you're always sneaking out of bed when we're together?" Hermione accused, though not angrily. "I'm sure you've learned by now that I'm a light sleeper."

"You looked so peaceful lying there and Merlin knows you need the rest, so I didn't want to wake you up with my shuffling around," he explained.

"You need the rest more than I, Harry," she said softly, handing him the sock. He took it gratefully and shrugged his shoulders. He bent over to pull the offending article of clothing on.

"To be honest, we both need the rest, and you know it too. Since you're up, why don't you put on something decent so we can make an appearance at the breakfast table?" Harry suggested, handing over underwear.

"Sounds like a good idea. I'm starving. I wonder what Fleur made," she wondered aloud, hopping out of bed to put on pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. Harry grabbed her hand as they left the room, guiding her to the kitchen.

Familiar faces greeted them.

"I see the lovebirds finally decided to leave their bedroom. How are you two feeling? Tired? Hungry? Sore?" Tonks commented, standing up to hug Harry and Hermione. Lupin was at the table, holding a steaming cup of tea in his hands. He waved hello.

"What are you guys doing here?" Hermione asked excitedly, pulling Harry to the table so they could take a seat. Fleur appeared, carefully placing two large mugs of tea in front of them. Harry murmured a "thanks" while Hermione focused her attention on the unlikely couple situated right across the table. Harry pushed the mug into her hands so she would take a sip.

"Well, we were supposed to come over last night to tell the news, but we got a little sidetracked. Somehow, we found a band of Snatchers and a Death Eater being delivered at our door. I wondered how that was possible," Lupin said, glancing in Harry's direction before continuing with his story.

"We stayed up till late extracting information from our unwilling prisoners, but what we got was very valuable in terms of predicting the Dark Lord's next plan of attack. We escorted the prisoners to a different location, one that the Order has set up just because the Headquarters is being watched by the corrupt Ministry like prey to a hawk."

"I'm sure we're partly responsible for that," Harry said, apologizing.

"No, no, my boy. The Death Eaters have been on our tails about the Headquarters even before you used it as a hiding place. We were raided once, but they didn't find anything out of the blue or valuable enough to put any one of our wizards and witches in harm's way. Once they left, we strengthened our defenses and now, they couldn't apparate on the front steps even if they tried to. The Order employs a group of very talented spell makers who've invented the best defense technology possible. The Dark Lord himself couldn't AK his way through our invisible walls. I'm sure someone will inform you about how to get in, someday. We're still in the works of distributing the secret among our most reliable members," Lupin said.

"That's amazing," Hermione exclaimed.

"Isn't it?" Tonks added, smiling. Lupin cleared this throat, signaling that he wasn't quite finished yet.

"There's no doubt that the Death Eaters have infiltrated the new Ministry. The old Minister of Magic was murdered brutally a few months ago, and a new face replaced him, but we've got our doubts about whether he's one of them or just one of their helpless puppets. But since the Ministry somehow got a hold of control of the media as well, the murder was never publicized. They just said the old Minister stepped down and fled the country, which the Dark Lord intended to do in order to play up the fear in every magical person's heart," Lupin continued.

"Wizards and witches have become so paranoid that they've hexed and even accidentally killed their loved ones, or even handed them over to the Ministry for possible treason. The Dark Lord is ingraining fear in people's hearts so that they will turn to him for guidance, assuming he wins and then we're all doomed," Tonks observed, staring at Harry with calculated eyes.

"But he won't win. He can't," Hermione replied defiantly, clutching Harry's hand.

"And we're doing all we can to prevent that, but we've been trying to get hold of you all. Once you left the Burrow, we lost all signs of contact with you. Our sources gave us hints about your whereabouts, but once we got there, you were already gone. You've been hiding from us, which is very clever, but so dangerous at the same time. What's happened so far, Harry?" Lupin asked, curiously.

"Well, I can't tell you absolutely everything. We swore to secrecy with Albus Dumbledore about our mission, but I can tell you that the Dark Lord is in the process or possibly already has gotten a hold of a dangerous weapon that just might spell victory for the Dark side. But don't worry – I figured out Dumbledore wouldn't want me to go after him, especially when he has so much power in his hands. We're going back to our original plans, to destroy the Dark Lord, little by little, piece by piece," Harry declared confidently.

Hermione gasped and asked, "Really, Harry? You've given up on the … ?"

Harry looked at her and nodded.

"So what you're trying to tell me is that the Dark Lord has something that could spell the end of all of us? Harry, why did you not inform the Order?!" Lupin exclaimed loudly.

"If I tell you, you will risk your lives for something that could be nothing. I didn't want to be the boy that cried wolf," Harry said, cringing once the words slipped from his tongue. _Great reference there, Potter. You're so smart._

"Well, if it's as dangerous as you say it is, then you _must_ tell us. In fact, we can have one of our men follow you around, so that you can stay in contact with us and be safe at the same time," Lupin suggested.

"_No!_" Harry shouted, jumping from his seat. "I won't let you do that!"

"Harry – please consider this. You are so young, so easily angered. You could do something to harm yourself or Hermione or Ron, and we would never know! We want to help you, Harry. We need to help you. Do you think you were the only one that Dumbledore asked a favor from? He asked us to look after you, if there was any chance that he was taken out of the picture."

Harry stared at Lupin, breathing deeply. He considered the idea, but knew it wasn't a good idea. He couldn't handle another person's life in his hands. Besides, he didn't need "Big Brother" watching his every move. The Dark Lord and his minions were doing a pretty good job of it already.

"I'm sorry, Lupin, but I can't let you do this. I know the Order has so much to deal with on its own, without me adding my burdens as well. Thank you, but no thank you," Harry responded calmly, taking a seat again. He drank his tea quietly.

Hermione watched the interaction between the young and old wizard, realizing that more than he confessed to this morning was bothering Harry. She'd have another conversation with him, and this time he wouldn't get away with a simple kiss.

"Well, now that we have that decided, Tonks, would you like to tell us the good news that Lupin has yet to tell?" Hermione asked, changing topics smartly.

"We're pregnant," Tonks exclaimed, blushing.

"Pregnant?" Harry asked, confused.

"Remus and I are having a baby," Tonks said slowly to Harry.

"Really?" he replied.

"Really really," Lupin answered, smiling.

Hermione jumped from her seat to congratulate the parents-to-be. Harry stayed where he was, offering a handshake to Lupin instead.

"Congratulations," Harry said honestly.

"Thank you, Harry. We were wondering… since I don't have very many friends alive anymore… and Tonks can't seem to find a suitable person… would you like to be my son's godfather?"

Harry's eyes widened. _Godfather_?

"You don't have to say yes, but you were the first person we thought would be appropriate for the job," Tonks added.

Hermione smiled at Harry, mouthing "Say Yes" in the least subtle way.

"Of course, I would love to be your son's godfather," Harry stated, mustering up a smile. He was still too shocked to realize what was being asked of him.

"Thank you, Harry. Thank you so much," Lupin said.

The unlikely couple excused themselves from the table, explaining that they needed to get back to work.

Just before they apparated away, Lupin looked over his shoulder and said to Harry, "Inform Bill when you plan to leave, so we can send the proper supplies for your departure. According to your wishes, we won't send a member of the Order to watch you, but please, it would soothe all our nerves if you checked in with us from time to time. And if you can, visit Molly. She deserves to see her children safe and sound."

Hermione looked up at Harry, wondering if he'd follow instructions.

"Tonks is pregnant, Harry," she murmured, smiling.

"I know. Isn't that just weird?" he answered, kissing her forehead sweetly.

"Not weird. Just so … _normal._ Even when we're in these times, fighting for freedom against the Dark Lord, life still goes on. People get married. People have children. It's like nothing can stop the natural process of life from going, not even a somewhat-dead-somewhat-reincarnated monster with a metal, bloodless heart."

"Nice," Harry commented.

"Thanks. But now that's over … you have some confessing to do, Harry," Hermione said sternly. She grabbed the front of his shirt and stared into his eyes. "What are you not telling me?"

"What are you talking about?" he replied dumbly.

"Don't play stupid with me, Harry. You know exactly what I'm talking about. What did you not tell me this morning? What are you trying to hold back from me? You know I'm going to needle it out of you sooner or later. I'll do anything and everything to know, and you know I will do this, Harry Potter," she threatened.

"Hermione – I've got to talk to people. I promise I will tell you later tonight. I need to get some information before I can tell you what's on my mind, okay?" he begged. She sighed, nodding, and releasing her fist from his shirt. The material shrunk back against his chest, wrinkled.

"Thank you," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his middle. Harry mirrored her, embracing her warmth.

"No, _thank you_, Hermione," he whispered, kissing her forehead tenderly.

They stood there for a couple moments, swaying and basking in each other's warmth, simply breathing in each other's presence.

Two misty blue eyes watched from around the corner of the hallway, observing the couple's swaying embrace. She felt like a voyeur, intruding on Harry and Hermione's private moment, but she felt compelled to see the truth for herself.

If everything she pieced together was true, that is, if Ron and Hermione were no longer a thing, and that Harry and Hermione were now inseparable, then Ron was available for the taking.

_If only he'd wake up._

Luna stood up from her hiding place and walked to Ron's bedroom.

Time could only tell when or if he'd wake up from his slumber, but when did, she would be there, by his side, to greet him when he finally decided to join the conscious world.

* * *

Harry knocked on Ollivander's door. The old man hollered from the other side, allowing him to enter. He was sitting in a rocking chair, facing the only window in the room. He was gazing in the distant ocean.

"Hello Harry," the old man greeted him. Harry nodded in greeting, taking a seat on his bed.

"This is the first time in many years that I've gotten to watch the waves of the ocean dance along the shore as they do," the old man admitted, silently appreciating the view.

Harry was silent as he formulated the questions he was burning to ask.

"The last time I visited the ocean, I was a young man, confused and wandering about the sandy shore, questioning what I wanted to do with my life. Who would have known that I'd end up dealing with wands? Some people never find out what they want to do with their lives. I was one of the lucky few," he continued.

"And who would've known I'd end up giving Harry Potter the wand that'll save all of our lives?" Ollivander added, turning his head to face the "Chosen One."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that wand has been destroyed," Harry said lowly.

"Destroyed?" the old man exclaimed, worry stealing the nostalgic expression that was previously there.

"Yes. There was an accident and my wand was snapped in two," Harry confessed, reaching in his pocket to hand over his useless wand. He placed the broken pieces in the old man's hands.

Harry thought Ollivander would actually cry at the sight of his destroyed masterpiece.

Ollivander blinked, examining the pieces with an expert's eye.

"There's no way for me to fix this," he stated bluntly.

"I figured that much," Harry replied, reminding himself of Ron's broken wand.

"How have you managed so far?" he asked, placing the broken wand in his lap.

"I've been using Hermione's wand … but it's not working so well," Harry admitted.

"Of course it wouldn't, Harry. The wand didn't choose you as its owner. But since you've still been able to use it is amazing to me. Most wands back fire when the wrong owner is using them, unless they were rightfully stolen and then would be forced to change their ways. But I know you didn't steal the wand from Hermione," Ollivander commented.

"No, I didn't, but I can tell the wand doesn't work for me, at least not like my old wand did. I can't harness as much power with my spells, which is definitely bad for me, considering I have to defend my chance to stay living every day. I was wondering… I stole this wand from Draco Malfoy yesterday. When I handled it, it didn't kick back like Hermione's did when I held it at first. In fact, I felt a lot more confident with his wand than hers. Do you think I could use it, considering I probably can't get you to make me a wand in a day and I have so much more to do?" Harry asked, holding his breath. He handed the wand over to Ollivander.

"You stole it from Draco Malfoy?" he asked, rolling the wand over and over again in his fingers. "If that's the case and it hasn't hexed you, then I don't see why not. If you can do more than basic spells with it, then the wand has willingly accepted you as the rightful owner. I see nothing wrong with the transaction, but I doubt the young Malfoy feels the same way..."

"Trust me, he won't be wielding a wand in a long time…" Harry assured the old man. Ollivander handed both wands back to Harry, who looked at them briefly before placing back into his pockets. He lingered, wondering if he should ask about the wand that Greyback kept egging him on about.

"What's on your mind, Harry Potter?" Ollivander asked, returning his attention to the view beyond his window.

"I was wondering if you knew about … the Elder Wand," Harry asked, stuttering on the last few words. He assumed the old man would know. He _was_ a wand expert.

"Ah – The Elder Wand. A wandmaker's dream masterpiece. The Holy Grail of all wandmakers' minds," the old man laughed. Harry didn't comment, though he felt a little annoyed the wandmaker was taking the subject so lightly.

"So you know about it?" Harry asked dumbly.

"Of course I know about the legendary Elder Wand, Harry. Almost every wizard or witch that ever heard the bedtime story of the Three Brothers and their brush with Death knows about the wand," Ollivander said.

_Yeah, that's what everyone keeps telling me_, Harry thought, gritting his teeth.

"Does it exist?" Harry asked without skipping a beat.

"Exist? I'm sure it does, Harry, but it's been lost for decades. The last time I heard it was unearthed from its hiding place, the discoverer was killed and then it went back into hiding," Ollivander explained.

"What if… What if the Dark Lord got a hold of it somehow? What would it mean to all of us?" Harry asked, dreading the answer he already knew.

"There's a highly unlikely chance the Dark Lord could even find the relic, Harry. It's a secret that's been kept so silent for so long. Even the Dark Lord would have an adventure trying to find it," Ollivander continued, brushing off the topic.

"But _what if he did_?" Harry said, acting on the curiosity within the wandmaker.

"Well, it would be the end of us all, as you probably know," Ollivander answered solemnly.

"Would there be any way of stopping him, if let's say he got a hold of the greatest weapon in magical history?" Harry finally asked.

Ollivander took a moment to think, but could not come up with a proper answer. Instead he shook his head and said, "According to the folk story, it favors victory for its owner at every possible battle, but there is no solid evidence that it is as it is named, _the unbeatable wand_… I'm sure it has lost sometime or another in battle… but then again, we would never know. The wand is stolen and repossessed so many times in history that I can't honestly give you a yes or no answer."

Harry, a little peeved, then asked, "Let's say, hypothetically, the Dark Lord somehow stumbled upon the wand and somehow _knew_ it was the Elder Wand or the Deathstick or the so called 'Unbeatable Wand.' … Would any other wand really stand a chance against him?"

Ollivander nodded as he took in Harry's loaded question. He stared out at the oceanic view, trying to find an easy way to tell the young wizard the terrible news. He refused to look the young wizard in the eyes. After a short pause, he finally declared, "If what you imply is true, then Harry Potter … _you will not survive_."

Harry sat silently, trying not to let the disappointment show too obviously on his face. Somehow, he thought being told a lie would be better than being told the truth, which was usually not his preference for conversations. He imagined an invisible noose being lowered to his head, and slowly, being tightened.

Just like the prophecy said, he could not exist if the Dark Lord existed as well, at least not peacefully. There was a fifty-fifty percent chance that he would survive to defeat the darkest wizard of the time, but with this new Elder Wand in play, the chances were too slim to consider at this point.

_Defeat was inevitable. Death was inevitable. The Dark Lord would win and the Chosen One would fall, and the magical world would be slaughtered, would be forced to live on its knees, kissing the dirty feet of the tyrant that was enough of a maniac to destroy them all. _

And he would be the first victim.

Harry excused himself from the wandmaker's presence and left the cottage again, to head towards the cliff to think.

_What am I going to do now? _he cried on the inside.

He swore he heard the Dark Lord's sinister laughter ringing in his ears. He could hear his voice, saying he would lose everything he ever loved.

He thrashed around, screaming for the Dark Lord to get out of his head. His scar burned like it hadn't for a long while, and he could do nothing to stop the rolling waves of pain that spread throughout his body. He pulled at his hair and fell to the ground, rolling as he bashed his head against the soil.

_Harry!_

Hermione's voice of rationality rang clear throughout the symphony of the Dark Lord's voice and his self-doubt.

When he opened his eyes, he saw he was the edge of the cliff, ready to fall off. He scrambled up to his feet, heart beating like a drugged drummer, and fell back on the rock that served as his personal chair.

And then he had the vision.

When he finally came to, the sun was dropping in the sky, towards the horizon. It was nearly dark, but the pink sky guided him back to the cottage, to Hermione, who deserved to know everything.

She had to know what was going on in the Dark Lord's mind.

She had to know that the Dark Lord found the Elder Wand at Hogwarts.

She had to know that he would lose, despite all their efforts.

She had to know he would die, no matter what he did.

"_You will not survive._"

The wandmaker's words looped in his mind.

He tried not to show his despair, when he stumbled into the cottage, avoiding Bill's eyes, and brushing off Fleur's attempts at comforting him. He pulled Hermione up from her place at the kitchen table, where she sat preparing string beans, and pulled her to their bedroom.

"What's going on, Harry? What's wrong?" she kept asking.

He shut the door and placed spell after spell, ensuring their privacy, with Malfoy's wand. Hermione stood at his side, rubbing his arm, hoping to break him out of his funk.

"What's on your mind, Harry?" she murmured, making him sit on the bed as she stood before him, placing both hands on either side of his head, forcing him to face her when he knew he couldn't.

"I have so much to tell you, Hermione, but I don't know … I don't … shit, why am I crying? … I have to tell you this," he tried to say, with heaving sobs.

"Try to breathe. Start from the beginning and keep going. I'm listening," she said, running a hand through his unruly head of hair.

"Hermione, I'm going to lose. I'm going to die," he said crazily.

"No, you aren't. What happened? What caused this madness?" she asked.

"The Dark Lord found the Elder Wand. He went to Hogwarts and disturbed Dumbledore's tomb. Albus was inside there, Hermione. He is really dead. He won't come back. I was seeing things at the Manor – he's dead and the Dark Lord broke into his tomb to steal the wand he was buried with," Harry explained in a rush, confusing Hermione.

"Wait, what? How do you know this? Dumbledore was alive?!"

Harry shook his head furiously and screamed at her, "He's _dead_, Hermione. He's not going to come back to life and save us all, not like his fucking phoenix. He was just a wizard, a man, Hermione. He's not going to rise from the dead – He's rotting. What I saw at the Manor was probably just a hallucination. I let my imagination get the best of me again, but my vision was real!"

"Wait, Harry! Why did you think he was alive in the first place? Please go slowly. I'm trying my hardest to piece this puzzle together, and your tantrum isn't helping. Remember to breathe and everything will be okay," she suggested.

"Malfoy and Ron gave me the bag of stuff we lugged around this whole time. There was the broken mirror that Sirius gave me when he – before he – Oh Merlin… I saw Albus's eyes! In the glass! I know those eyes as well as my own, as well as yours. I saw them and I thought it was just my mind playing games with me, but I know I saw them!" Harry explained.

"That's not possible, if you say he's dead," Hermione told Harry logically.

"I know! Don't you think I know that? But I'm pulling at strings, Hermione, to make sense of everything. Albus is alive and then he is dead. The Dark Lord is losing and then he is winning, and now he's destined to win. It's over, Hermione. The journey is over. I am finished. I am dead," Harry shouted again, collapsing against her.

Hermione swung her hand back and slapped Harry across the cheek.

"What the hell, Hermione?" he exclaimed, cupping his stinging cheek.

"Did that hurt, Harry?" she asked, strangely.

"Of course it bloody hurt. Why did you do it?" he replied.

"To prove a point," she said smugly.

"Which is?"

"You're not dead, Harry, if that still hurt. You're still here, with me. You're still alive. You're still breathing. Even though you're acting defeated, you are not defeated yet. You are still alive and you can still do this. You can still defeat the Dark Lord," she reassured him.

"But you didn't see what I saw, Hermione. He has the Elder Wand now! He's destined to win – I have no chance against him now," Harry said, still defeated.

Hermione slapped him again, but Harry caught her hand and reversed their positions, slamming her against the mattress.

"Don't do that again, Hermione," he said angrily.

"Then don't act so stupidly, Harry," she fired back. "Why are you giving up already?"

"I am _not_ giving up," he said, defending himself. He pinned her arms against the bed so she couldn't hit him again. She had one helluva swing for a witch. It was funny to see when it was being used on someone else, such as Malfoy, but when you were on the receiving end, it hurt like hell and wasn't funny at all.

"Yes, _you are_! Here you are, screaming your head off about a silly wand and the Dark Lord winning and all this crap that I know you don't believe, truly, in your heart. You know you can win, Harry, but why do you defeat yourself with your insecurities?" she exclaimed, grabbing the back of his head and slamming her lips against his. He moaned against her lips, instinctively grinding against her, but he pulled away.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he cried, pulling away even more. Hermione's hands shot out and grabbed him as she sat up, pulling him close again.

"Why are you doing this to _yourself_?" she replied. "I know you can defeat the Dark Lord. I believe that you are more powerful than he, even if he wields some mythical weapon. Have you forgotten what Dumbledore told you? You have _love_, you have _me,_ on your side. I don't want to be a pansy and say that all you need is love to defeat the Dark Lord, but it just might be the truth. The Dark Lord's supporters are driven by fear to follow him. They can change their loyalties at the drop of a spell. You have an army of wizard and witches standing behind you, bigger than his, and me, at your side, not because we _fear_ you, but that we _love_ you. We won't betray you because we believe you will save us all."

"Please don't do this to me," Harry pleaded, dropping his head on her shoulder.

"Don't do what, Harry? Save you from yourself? If I don't do this, you'll get some idea in your head that you are going to die. What's the point of that? You'll do something foolish like leave me here and hand yourself over to the Dark Lord without a fight and then really leave us all in a difficult situation. I don't want to die, Harry. I don't want you to die either. But the way you're thinking is killing us both."

Harry sighed, trembling against her body. She held him tightly, saying soothing words, and holding him as his moment of panic passed.

When he finally settled down, she let him pull away. She softly traced his red cheek with her hand as he hissed at the contact. The skin was raw from her slaps.

"Now will you tell me what's going on in that head of yours, Potter?" she asked.

"Will you promise not to slap me?" he asked right back.

She laughed and answered, "I won't unless it becomes absolutely necessary."

"Okay."

* * *

_An hour later..._

Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed. He just finished spilling every thought that was bothering him, and was waiting for her response.

"_Wow._"

"Thank you for not slapping me," Harry said.

"You were holding _all of that_ from me this whole time? Why?" she asked, already starting with the questions.

"I didn't know if you were ready to know. Hell, I don't think I'm ready to know, and I've been thinking about this for days now," he admitted.

"You would've gone insane if you didn't, Harry. Did you really almost fall off the cliff?" she asked again. She was sitting on the bed, hugging one of the pillows, looking so child-like.

"Yes. It was probably one of the scariest things I've ever experienced in my life, and you know my autobiography… it's not exactly a fairy tale to begin with."

"But what do we do know?" she prodded on.

"I don't know, to be honest," he answered, shrugging.

"I'll think of something..." she promised.

"I'm sure you will, but if it involves the risk of you getting hurt _at all_, I'm not approving any of those plans," he threatened.

"Alright, boss. I'll check off 'Hermione Granger will get hurt' off the list of possibilities," she said jokingly, moving her finger in a check mark gesture in the air.

"Why are you taking this so lightly? You could die. Be serious," he demanded.

"Harry. This is your life. I'm being entirely serious,'" Hermione replied.

"Good."

"You should apologize to the others, for being such a jerk. Besides, I think Bill said he wanted to talk to you about important matter, which pretty much means Order stuff. I think you should go. Leave me be. I have plotting to do," Hermione said, pointing to the door.

"I just spilled my soul to you and you're already kicking me out of the room? Thanks a lot, Hermione. You're such a great girlfriend," Harry commented sarcastically.

"Is that what we are?" she asked, suddenly very seriously.

Harry tilted his head, confused by her sudden change of behavior. At first she was joking and full of laughs and then she was serious. He questioned whether it was that time of the month, but kept the comment to himself. He didn't want to get punched.

"You called me your girlfriend, Harry. That was the first time," she observed.

"Well, if you aren't that, then what are you to me? Because I'm quite aware I haven't proposed to you yet, so that doesn't make you my fiancé. And I'm pretty damn sure we're not just friends, because I've never done the things I've done with you, with my other friends. And I refuse to call this relationship a 'friends with benefits' kind of deal;" Harry analyzed.

"I don't know. It kinda caught me off guard, you know. You never asked me out, but I just assumed and … it just sounds a whole lot better if you hear it out loud, I guess," she stammered, blushing.

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes before asking in a nasally voice, "Hermione, will you be my girlfriend?" He held out an invisible bouquet of flowers for effect.

"No, not if you ask like that," she said, crossing her arms.

"Okay, whatever, I asked you out and you said no," he said jokingly in his normal voice and started walking towards the door.

"_Harry_! Stop being such a jerk!" Hermione threw a pillow at him, or tried to, because it landed on the floor at his feet.

"I need to teach you how to aim," he replied, picking up and throwing the pillow right back at her. "Girlfriend," he added after.

Hermione smiled, clutching the pillow like it was a teddy bear.

"Okay, _boyfriend_," she replied, letting him leave.

When she heard the door shut, she held onto the pillow tighter, smiling goofily at their little moment.

This was something the Dark Lord couldn't take away.

And she vowed that she would do everything in her power to make sure it stayed that way.

* * *

"Are you feeling better, Harry?" Bill asked as soon as he saw the raven-haired boy walk stiffly into the kitchen. Fleur kept her eyes on her plate as she popped a slice of her steak into her tiny mouth.

"Yes, Bill, much better," Harry said awkwardly, taking a seat at the table.

Fleur stood up immediately to get him his own plate of food, but he quickly asked her to stay seated and that he was going to wait for Hermione.

"So, uh, what happen?" Bill asked, taking a sip of his mug.

"Someone told me some bad news and I guess I took it too harshly," Harry admitted, twiddling his thumbs.

"You're not happy that Tonks is pregnant?" Bill assumed.

"No, no – I'm extremely happy for them. In fact, I agreed to be their son's godfather," Harry corrected, smiling. _Godfather. Really? I'm already as careless as my own godfather._

"That's wonderful, Harry," Fleur commented. Harry nodded in thanks.

"Yeah – hopefully I can stick around to watch him grow up," Harry said a little sadly.

"I'm sure you will, Harry. You'll be a great godfather," Bill assured him. Fleur excused herself from the table, saying that she needed to give the rest of the guests their dinner. Some of them were too weak or too proud to eat the family table. Bill and Harry watched her leave, waiting for her to be at a safe distance before continuing the conversation.

"So anyways – Hermione told me you had something to tell me?" Harry asked, changing the topic quickly before the memory of Sirius brought him back to his gloomy state.

"Yes, well… I think you should take a look at the front page of the newspaper today. You might find it a little interesting." Bill conjured up the publication and slid it over to Harry's side of the table.

**HARRY POTTER ROBS GRINGROTTS, STEALS VALUABLE HEIRLOOM…**

Harry only took a peek at the headline before he reacted. He didn't need to read the rest of the article to know that he was being blamed, once again, for something he didn't do.

"What the hell?" he said, quirking his eyebrow at Bill.

"Yeah, You probably summed up the general consensus of the reactions of the Wizarding community to this slander. Guess who wrote this?" Bill baited.

Without thinking, Harry answered, "Rita Skeeter."

"Yep. The witch is still up and writing. Ever since the newspaper was taken over by the Ministry, she's been their star reporter. I'm sure you haven't seen the past issues that have been delivered to every doorstep in the known wizarding communities in this country. Each and every one of them slander your name, blaming you for what has happened to the Wizarding community at large. Villages being ransacked and burned to the ground, families being slain in the middle of the night, missing people that end drifting onto the shores of bodies of water – they blame it all on you, Harry," Bill said sadly.

"How is this possible? I haven't done any of this!" Harry exclaimed.

"We know you haven't. That's why people refuse to look at their newspapers anymore, except to search for the names of their missing loved ones, to see if they are still alive or dead or still missing. No one trusts the media, anymore. The Ministry has even infiltrated the radio stations – no music or radio show that offends the Dark Lord in any shape, way, or form is banned from the airwaves. There was one that was run by a couple of your Hogwarts buddies, but they were quickly disbanded and dealt with; the Order saved them in time, so don't worry. Also, in turn, no music or radio show that glorifies you is banned as well. People don't know who to turn to, anymore, Harry, and they're starting to really panic."

Harry frowned, taking in the information. He knew the Dark Lord was conniving, but he underestimated his power to harness fear as his greatest weapon.

"Soon, they'll give up on me and accept him as their ruler," Harry thought morosely.

"Harry! They would never turn to the Dark Lord for help. I'm sure they are losing faith, but they'd never trust that rat with their lives. The Dark Lord is the one that is stealing their family members while they sleep – they know exactly what's going on, but lies keep being printed and expressed over and over again – and I fear one day, they will give up on the truth, that you will save them, and resort to his lies."

Harry looked at Bill and quietly murmured, "What if I don't save them? What if they have to resort to his lies, Bill?"

"You are their only hope, Harry. If you die, then all hope is lost," Bill said ultimately. "I can't imagine how much pressure this can be on your shoulders, but know that you aren't alone. We all believe you can defeat the Dark Lord. We know you'll save us – excuse the whole Chosen One trend, because it's actually the Chosen Many. The Order, your friends, your classmates – they are rooting for you."

Harry's eyes dropped onto the newspaper and soon he found himself being absorbed into the article. Apparently, he killed several guards and harmed many goblins in order to steal a very valuable Black family heirloom.

"It's very interesting that you stole only one item, Harry. What do you think is so important about this heirloom?" Bill asked, albeit amused.

"I'm not entirely sure, but it must be one helluva item to cause such an uproar. This says that there's a reward of sorts being held over my head. Am I really worth that much?" Harry joked.

"I'm more amused that they said you were the thief. True, they're providing a whole lot of money for anyone who's willing and able to get their hands on you, and frankly, who has enough balls to hand you over to the Ministry. But since you and I know that you've been here at the cottage for the past couple days, you couldn't possibly have done the crime. But since you're stuck in a limbo, you really can't provide an alibi, now can you?" Bill laughed.

"They're so desperate to get their hands on me that they'll use me as a scapegoat for this little security fiasco," Harry commented.

"Well, you know you're safe here. Aside from the trackers or snatchers or whatever you want to call those bastards we encountered last night, no one seems to bother us. You can stay here as long as you'd like," Bill said.

"About that … Bill, I'm so thankful for everything you and your family have done for all of us, but I think it's time that we get back on the road. We have so much to do, especially in light of these recent developments, and it would be dangerous for us to intrude any longer," Harry said finally, revealing his plans to leave.

Bill frowned, a little surprised by the news, but still somewhat accepting. "I understand, Harry. I'll inform the Order of your departure so you can be given supplies. I'm sure your previous supplies were confiscated by the Death Eaters. I hope they didn't keep anything too important to you."

"No, they didn't. We got away with the most important items, but we might need your help to get to where we decide to go," Harry answered.

Bill quickly agreed to doing everything asked of him, but then said, "Ron's not awake yet, Harry."

Harry stopped, realizing this, and decided, "If he isn't healthy enough, Hermione and I will have to trek on by ourselves."

"He'll be severely disappointed when he wakes up," Bill warned.

"Yes, but I'll be severely disappointed if he _doesn't_ wake up, so I'll take my chances and let him recover," Harry stated.

"Just be careful, Harry. And remember to keep in touch. We want to know you are still alive and breathing. Is there any chance you'll visit my mum?" Bill asked.

Harry tossed the idea around in his mind and said he wasn't quite so sure there'd be time, but if there was, he would definitely stop by the Burrow.

"Thank you for everything you've done so far, Harry. I'm sure you're on the right track." Bill stood up to give Harry a hug, just like a big brother would, and Harry was ready to receive it, but they were pulled apart by a sudden exclamation.

"He's awake! He needs water! And food!" Luna shouted, clasping her hands as she jumped up and down.

"Ron?" Bill asked, immediately running to his brother's room.

Harry watched in shock, somewhat unready to face the wizard that he labeled a traitor for so long. He remembered the promise he told himself, that he'd talk to Ron and set things right between all of them again. He was going to get his best friend back.

Luna raced into the kitchen, where Fleur was setting up a meal. Luna insisted that she carry the tray to Ron, and Fleur let her. Fleur sent a look over at Harry, who caught onto her smile, and smiled as well.

Ron had an admirer of his own, it seemed.

Harry waited outside the door, quite unsure whether he should barge into the room or just wait to be called in, so he ended up waiting. The door jarred open a little bit and Bill's head popped out.

"He wants to speak with you," Bill stated. Harry nodded.

It was time to rebuild a certain burned bridge.

And Harry was ready, with tools and wood and everything necessary.

* * *

Luna and Bill left the room as soon as Harry entered. Ron was sitting upright as he chewed on his bread and swallowed pieces of meat whole. He stopped ever so often to take a giant gulp from his cup.

_Some things never change_, Harry noted.

"It's good to see you up and about, pigging out and such," he said, walking towards his best friend's bedside.

"What do you expect Harry? I've been asleep for so long. I need my nourishment," Ron said, smiling like a jester.

"How do you feel?" Harry asked.

"My head bloody hurts, like I've been clubbed at the back of my head, but I'm surviving. It was little iffy for a little while, but I made my way back, and boy, am I starving." Ron continued to chow down on his dinner.

"That's good to know, Ron," Harry commented.

Harry let Ron inhale his food and waited patiently, instead taking notice of the cuts and bruises on Ron's face and neck. There was a long cut right above his right eyebrow that looked quite nasty.

"Bill told me what happened. Thanks for saving my life. _Again_," said Ron, who rolled his eyes at the last word.

"No problem, Ron. You would do the same for me."

Ron looked at Harry, and didn't say anything. A moment of awkward silence passed between them.

"Where's Malfoy now?" Ron brought up, coughing behind a fist. He finished his meal and was draining the rest of his juice.

"Detained by the Order. He's probably locked up somewhere, far away from here, and us, of course. Finally," Harry told him.

Ron shook his head, murmuring, "I almost befriended that little snake. I can't believe I sank so low."

"I'm sorry you did, because I know and you know that it was all my fault. If I hadn't done you wrong by taking Hermione the way I did, then you wouldn't have felt so betrayed that you had to rely on Slytherins. I'm sorry for that, Ron."

"Don't worry, Harry. I don't resent you anymore. I don't plan on handing you over to the bad guys anymore either, so you can breath easier. My bad guy role is over, I swear. But I did learn something quite interesting while I was undercover," Ron said, brightening up.

"Really? What could that be?" Harry responded.

"Dolores Umbridge was wearing a necklace of some sort. I thought it was one of the Horcruxes and – " Ron started.

"Ron, we destroyed it long before we were at the Manor," Harry corrected him.

"Are you sure? Because I swear I saw her wearing it at the dinner party," Ron murmured, trying to retrace the steps in his mind.

"It must have been a replica of the real thing, because we destroyed that Horcrux together. Are you sure you sustained more injuries than a few scratches? Did you hit your head, maybe lose a few brain cells on the way too?" Harry joked.

Ron harrumphed, frustrated at his tired memory.

"I think I must have been seeing double, Harry. I'm sorry. Never mind what I said," Ron sighed.

"But you brought up something pretty important… I'm no longer searching for the Deathly Hallows, most especially the Elder Wand, Ron. The Dark Lord already has his hands on it. There's no way I can pry it from his fingers now – unless I kill him, of course. And we both know the story behind the wand – I can't kill him with the wand I have now," Harry summarized.

"Because Hermione needs her wand too, right," Ron offered.

"No, Ron. I gave it back to her. I'm using Malfoy's wand now," Harry said, slipping the wand from his pocket to show his best friend.

Ron observed the wand, a little bug-eyed. "I think you need to catch me up on everything's that's happened so far, Harry."

Harry tried to summarize everything as briefly as possible, without leaving out the major details. He was sure he was repeating a couple things that Bill probably said, but he didn't care. Ron deserved to know what had happened in his state of slumbering absence.

"We're leaving in a day's time, Ron. Hermione and I will be back on the road as soon as possible, so we can figure out how I'll take down this bastard of a monster," Harry revealed.

"What about me, Harry? Weren't you going to wait for me?" Ron shouted.

Harry cringed. "You just woke up, Ron. You aren't ready to get back on the horse, so to speak."

"There's no way in hell I'm letting you two have all of the fun while I'm stuck here, playing patient to Luna's nurse. Not that isn't that bad of an alternative… but anyways! You are not leaving without me!" Ron decided stubbornly.

"If you're able to function properly without Luna's help, then I'll reconsider letting you back into the journey, but otherwise, you're not coming with us, Ron," Harry added.

"Who's going to watch out for enemies while you and Hermione make like rabbits in the corner, huh?" Ron asked, prodding Harry for a reaction.

"Erm… thanks, Ron. I'll think about it. On the other hand, you should rest. You need to conserve your energy," Harry said, finally letting himself make an escape.

"If I wake up again and I find you left without me, you're going to go through hell at my expense, Harry," Ron warned.

"I know, Ron. One warning was enough," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

Harry was ready to open the door when Ron called his name, asking, "So, are we best friends again? Have I been demoted to 'faithful sidekick' or what?"

Harry faced him, smiling brightly before saying, "Something like that, Ron."

He ignored Ron's cursing as he opened the door. He also ignored his instinct to jump back at the sight of Luna with her misty blue eyes and sunshine colored hair, already standing at the door.

"Luna! Just the person that Ron wanted to see… He's um… just go ahead inside," Harry stammered, letting Luna in.

The door slammed at his heel.

Harry laughed silently as he made his way to his bedroom with Hermione. Bill's lurking figure in the living room caught his attention.

"Don't want to pry or anything, but I hope you lot know your contraception spells. Mum will be so angry with me if you all become premature parents under my supervision," Bill commented.

Harry refused to blush at this.

"Don't worry, Bill," Harry said, patting his shoulder as he passed him by. "We've got it all under control."

* * *

"Hermione – I've got something to tell you," Harry said as soon as he stepped into their room.

She was on the bed, surrounded by books and parchment. She looked like she was studying for an Ancient Runes test, which reminded Harry sorely of Hogwarts and of the life she could have had, had he not stepped in and stolen her away for this journey.

She looked up, albeit annoyed, and asked, "What?"

Harry put his hands up and said, "Don't shoot the messenger."

Hermione sighed, putting down her quill before asking again, though more softly this time, "What, Harry?"

"Ron's awake," he revealed. Hermione squealed and nearly jumped off the bed.

"He is?! That's good news!" she exclaimed.

"You should probably talk to him sometime. I already did. We made our amends and all that good stuff," Harry said, bringing down his arms. He glided to the end of the bed and picked up a piece of parchment that looked like it was important.

Hermione flicked his wrist, ripping the paper from his hands.

"I'm working on that!" she hissed.

"Well, sorry to intrude on your little project time, but I have something else to tell you," Harry added. Hermione waited.

"I think we just lost sight of another Horcrux, Hermione."

"_What?_"

"Bill told me about the break in at Gringotts. The papers say I did it, but you know exactly where I've been these past few days, so that isn't possible. Rita Skeeter says I stole one item, something very important to the Blacks. It had to be a Horcrux, Hermione. There would no other reason for such a break-in. The Death Eaters could probably glide in and out of Gringotts without any explanation, given they've taken over the most important parts of the Ministry already. Why else would they steal something and blame it on me, if not to warn me that the Dark Lord is onto our plans?" Harry explained.

"Are you implying the Dark Lord knows we're destroying his soul, piece by piece?" Hermione asked.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Hermione."

Hermione looked at Harry and then crumpled up the piece of parchment in her hands. She found a blank page and started planning again.

"Do you need help, Hermione? I could be quite useful, seeing as I know how the Dark Lord thinks," Harry reminded her. He took a seat beside her on the bed, feeling the mattress sink with his weight.

"Sure, Harry. But don't distract me too much. This is your life I'm trying to save," she demanded wisely.

"I won't be a distraction, I promise," he murmured, taking in the sight of her studious form. He could imagine her in the standard Hogwarts uniform, with her prim and proper button up top and skirt and her knee-highs. The imagery was more than distracting for him, to be honest.

"Don't stare at me like that, Harry. You look like you could eat me or something," Hermione asked, jotting down notes on the parchment.

"You know what? I think I'll just go get you some food instead. I don't think you've eaten yet. In fact, I'll get food for the both of us," Harry suggested, leaving the room before he did something stupid.

He knew when Hermione meant serious business, and he didn't wish to lose any fingers tonight.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a dingy dungeon hidden under what seemed to be a quaint little cottage amongst tall grass, Draco Malfoy felt the same way. He was being kept captive and was currently being tortured for information by Harry Potter's guys.

He was strapped to a chair, pleading for mercy.

"Don't do this to me. I beg you!"

The wizard tormenting the young Malfoy told him to keep his mouth shut or else he'd lose a pinkie.

"_PLEASE!_" Draco shouted.

The wizard turned around and had his wand ready at hand. "You tried my patience, Malfoy." He approached the trembling young man and raised his wand, ready to attack, when someone barged into the room.

"Remus! What are you doing here?" he claimed, whisking his wand behind his back.

"You were instructed to get information, not scare the blonde out of him!" Lupin snarled. "What have you done to him?"

"Nothing yet, because he won't reveal _anything_!" the wizard cried out, stepping aside as his superior checked over the prisoner of war.

"You've gone too far," Lupin declared, ordering the wizard to leave the premises. "I'll take it from here onwards. Go home."

The wizard nodded and left the room, stomping as he departed.

"These new guys… so easily angered, so easily bossed around. They have no ounce of professionalism in them. How are you feeling, Draco Malfoy? Parched? Need some water?"

The young Malfoy glared at him, keeping his mouth shut.

"I'll be honest with you. I don't want to resort to Truth Serum or sneaking around in your mind for answers, so I'll make you an offer. If you agree to be honest with me from the get-go, this will be as painless and over with as quickly as possible, with no fingers detached, I swear," Lupin promised.

"What do you want to know?" the young Malfoy asked almost too quickly.

Lupin observed the young wizard, searching for dishonesty in his grey eyes and felt good to find there seemed to be none.

"I want to know what your father stole from the Black's vault at Gringotts," Lupin continued.

Draco was shocked by the accusation.

"What? Why would my father steal anything from them? We have more than enough to get by. I don't know what you're talking about!" he shouted.

Lupin tsked, walking around in slow circles around the restrained boy. "I'm sure you know, somewhere deep in that meticulous brain of yours. Just think hard, Draco. Think of anything your Aunt Bellatrix might've let slip, or even the Dark Lord at a blindsided moment, or perhaps your mother…"

The word ripped a cord in Draco's nerves.

"Don't you dare mention my mother, you evil prick!" Draco snarled. He was still mourning her death, and didn't need another bastard to poke at him for his loss.

Lupin smiled bitterly, stating, "So I found your soft spot. Shame – I heard the news. I'm dreadfully sorry. But you'll get over it. We all do."

Draco thrashed against his constraints, roaring, "I said, stop talking about her!"

Lupin, seeing the passionate response from the young man, decided to continue on with this channel. "You didn't get to see her funeral, now did you? The papers say it was a beautiful ceremony. Very respectable, very lavish. Sounds nice, doesn't it?"

Draco glared at Lupin with deadly eyes. He hissed, "Don't go any further or else I'll rip your throat out with my bare hands."

The Auror laughed deeply at the young wizard's attempt at intimidation. "Oh, you're talking to me about ripping throats out? Do you not know what I am, young Malfoy? If anyone's going to rip throats out tonight, it's going to be _me._"

Draco sat silently, contemplating his next action. This wizard slash creature was too smart to get intimidated with simple threats. He didn't know much about him, so he couldn't threaten the loss of his close family members. He was stuck. His father couldn't help him, because the man didn't even know he was being kept a prisoner at this facility.

Draco Malfoy was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and could find no way out of, no loophole to crawl into.

Resigned, he said, "I honestly don't know what you're talking about. My father doesn't steal. My father doesn't need to steal. If anything, he's being framed. Aunt Bellatrix is probably behind all of this. She's insane. She's crazy in the head for the Dark Lord. She thinks she can make him fall in _love_ with her for some reason. That bastard doesn't love. He doesn't know how to. He's dead on the inside."

Lupin stopped walking around him and instead, stood before him, staring with black eyes. "That's nice to know, Malfoy, but you still haven't answered my question properly."

With a little more than an ounce of fear leaking through his bloodstream, Draco cleared his throat and asked for more time to think and sift through his memory.

"We have all night, Mister Malfoy…" Lupin reminded him. He even conjured up a seat for himself so he could wait comfortably for a response.

Draco's eyes brightened as he remembered one night he was on his way to the kitchen for a midnight snack. He passed by his father's office, whose door was slightly ajar. He stood outside the office as quietly as a mouse, plastering himself against the wall. He listened in on the private conversation before he noticed the shadows on the wall shift and heard the door being slammed shut.

"They were talking about the Dark Lord's soul, my father and Aunt Bellatrix. He was going on about the gossip that the Dark Lord's soul was key to his destruction. Aunt Bella told him to hush about it, that someone would walk by and think he was bent on betraying the Dark Lord, which would spell death for all of us. My father said it was just a rumor and brushed it off, but Aunt Bellatrix was acting so nervous, as if she knew the truth and that my father wasn't too far off. There. Is that what you wanted?"

Lupin stood up, smiling, and said, "That's exactly what I wanted, Malfoy. Thank you for being honest." He pushed the chair away from sight and walked towards the exit.

Draco, panic rising in his throat, hollered, "Now will you let me out of these restraints? I want to leave."

Lupin stopped in his tracks and turned to face the boy. He frowned as he said, "I'm sorry but I can't let you leave just yet. You're still valuable to us. You'll see your father soon enough, but on our terms."

Furiously, Draco flailed in his chair again, screaming, "You bastards! Let me free!"

Lupin opened the dungeon door and slammed it shut. The slot for the eyes slid open and he said, from the other side of the door, "I'm sorry, Malfoy. This is war, and you are a prisoner. We can't let you go. This is just how it goes."

The eye slot slid shut and Draco cried out, "Where are you going? Don't turn off the lights! Don't leave me alone!"

Draco screamed and hollered, hoping someone would hear his cries for help, but he knew he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, harnessed to this chair like a bug stuck to cardboard with magical glue. He kept abusing his voice until it cracked and he was forced to shut up. He thought of his mother and his father, and the wrong detours he made in his life, and wished someone would set him free. The dark and the cold were things he experienced at Hogwarts, but the loneliness and feeling of hopelessness were eating him up on the on the inside.

Eventually, he dozed off. While he was sleeping, the slot for eyes slid open yet again. This time, a different set of eyes filled its space.

The wizard that threatened to cut off his fingers was back, but he wasn't planning on entering the dungeon cell. He was just observing, noting the condition of the son he was going to send home to his rightful father.

His name was not important. In fact, he wasn't even using his real name these days. He was so secretive that he kept his real identity hidden. Only the few friends he made over the years and his dead family members knew his real name. But his intentions were not so secretive.

He was a member of the Order gone rogue. During his time of freedom, he was caught by Snatchers, who brought him to the Dark Lord himself, who forced him to offer his services in order to keep his life. He gladly accepted the offer and returned to the Order a few months ago, but was unhappy with the way it was organized. Without Albus Dumbledore, the organization was in shambles. Headstrong wizards that didn't know what they were doing were sending out men and women left and right, effectively risking all of their lives for no reason.

He learned about the young Malfoy's escape from the Manor and was overjoyed by the news that Lucius Malfoy was offering a generous lump sum for his son's return. He volunteered to babysit the young wizard and garner some important information out of him, but when the Order took a blind eye to focus on another matter, he planned to steal the boy and collect the reward.

It would only be a few days until the time to betray the Order, he estimated.

He slid the eye slot closed and made his way up the secret stairs, through the narrow hallways, to the exit of the quaint abandoned home that doubled as the Order's torture facility. It was so amateur, but it worked. No one lived around here for miles and no one thought to search these lands, so the Order made some sort of smart move.

As soon as he took a step into the clean, country air, he felt himself fall down uncontrollably. He had been cursed without knowing. Bodybinded and paralyzed, the spy looked up at his attacker.

He caught the angry gaze of Remus Lupin, the wizard that he hated the most.

"So you're the rat within the grain," Lupin snarled.

"Mmmmmggghhh" the spy managed to groan.

"Your espionage days are over," Lupin hissed, pulling the wizard up by his collar. Instead of shoving him into a cell right next to the young Malfoy like he desired, he grasped the wizard in his hands and disapparated to the Headquarters to inform the Order that his mission for tonight was accomplished.

"One down, one to go… Got to explain why I'm coming home to Tonks so late…" Lupin murmured. A shiver ran through his body. Somehow, facing his baby's mother seemed to be more terrifying than taking down one of the Dark Lord's employed spies. "Well, here I go…"

* * *

_He was walking into the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Fog fell at his ankles and the cold nipped at his nose. He had Malfoy's wand in his hand, but he didn't feel afraid. Instead, he was calm, though his instincts told him he shouldn't be._

_There was a clearing in the path. There was a green light at the end of the road. Something was compelling him to keep walking towards the green light. It was Hermione's voice. _

_Follow me, Harry. Deeper and deeper into the forest. Chase me. Find me._

_She called to him, so he had to answer. But her voice seemed to become more distant the closer he got the green light. Once he reached the end of the road, he swallowed up by a white light. _

_He was transported to a different place. He was in a little clearing, surrounded by the Death Eaters. They all laughed at him, congratulating him for finally arriving. _

"_What am I doing here?" he cried out, twirling with wand in hand, ready to defend his life._

"_We're not going to hurt you, Harry Potter," Bellatrix cackled. _

"_Why not? Isn't it your life's calling as a Death Eater? Kill Harry Potter?" he mocked._

"_No, Potter, it is __**my**__ duty."_

_Harry twirled around to face the monster of his dreams and the monster of his reality, the Dark Lord. _

_The Dark Lord was wielding some sort of wand. It was a wand he had never seen before – it was the Deathstick._

"_Like my new trinket? Picked it up on a little visit by your old stomping grounds, Hogwarts. I finally visited my old instructor's grave. Dead looks so good on him, don't you think?" the Dark Lord joked around._

_The Death Eaters laughed in a symphony. Harry covered his ears to deafen their cackling._

"_So how about it, Potter? Ready for the duel of your life, dear Chosen One? Ready to 'defeat me' as your supporters like to believe?" _

_The Dark Lord gave him a "come hither" gesture. Harry took his attack stance and got ready to hurl out his first spell. _

_Before he could even say a syllable, he saw the green light coming his way. The power of its evil light paralyzed his body, burning his skin. He felt like he was being filleted, soul and body._

_He didn't see a white light. He didn't witness God. In fact, he could see absolutely nothing. He could feel nothing._

Harry gasped as he woke up. He was covered in a cold sweat.

"Are you okay?" Hermione called from her seat. She was still awake, jotting down notes on parchment, with Dumbledore's _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ open on her lap.

"Why are you still awake, Hermione?" Harry asked, climbing out of bed to pull off his shirt. It was soaked through and through.

"I'm saving your life, stupid," she replied groggily.

"Well, you can't save my life if you're tired," he answered, pulling the parchment from her hands. He pulled her up and walked her to the bed, taking off her slippers and disrobing her. He pushed her gently into the bed.

"Stop – I need to keep going… so close…," she murmured.

"Stop fighting the exhaustion, woman. You need to sleep and I can't sleep peacefully without you right next to me."

Harry pulled the blankets over her and pulled her close, watching her tired eyes close. He watched her sleep, feeling her breath on his cheek. He traced her heart-shaped face in his hands, wondering how many nights of this they had left.

He stayed up as long as he could, memorizing the lines of her face, until he fell asleep, hoping to dream of Hermione, but knowing that the Dark Lord was always lurking just around the corner, ready to kill them both with his new wand.

Unfortunately, the nightmares were returning.

And in Harry Potter's worlds, nightmares aren't just very detailed horror films easily forgotten by the glare of the morning sun. In Harry Potter's world, nightmares are a vision of what is to come.

And according to his nightmares, Harry Potter was going to die by the hand of the Dark Lord.


	23. A Special Case of the Sorry's

July 28, 2009

Dear Readers,

According to the site's calculations, the last time I published a chapter for this story was nearly 6 to 7 months ago. Let me just say – _**I AM SO SORRY**_. As I hope you'll understand, life got the best of me.

I am now a junior in college so my workload has gotten significantly more difficult. As a science major, I can testify for that fact. As I was bombarded with class work and organization involvement, I let many things slip from grasp, such as keeping up with the news of the world and updating my stories online. But I have good news!

I am currently surviving "Hell Week" as I'd like to call it. Technically, it's called Finals Week. But Hell and Finals are synonyms to me. For all the college kids out there, I bet you can relate. (That wasn't the good news. Keep reading!)

Once Finals Week is over, I'll have a month and a half of relaxation, so I will update the story more frequently after this week is over. Bear with me, people! Or is it bare? I don't know anymore… Ugh… (Yep, that was the good news! There's more!)

I found my notes for the next chapter, so it's practically already written. I'll have it out by next week. When I read over my notes, I giggled and smiled and got scared, so I'm sure it'll be an entertaining ride for you as well. (Yep, that's pretty much it. Surprise!)

Thank you for those reviewers who prodded me and badgered me to update the damn story. I saw your reviews via email notifications so thank you! To all my new subscribers and whatnot, don't be afraid to leave a comment!

Again, I'm sorry for the 6 month delay. Would I gain any sympathy votes if I said that I haven't even watched the new Harry Potter film because I've literally been studying every moment that I get? Yep? Nope? That's fair.

I'll replace this notification with the real chapter in time.

Thank you and much love,

Tinsa


	24. I'm Still Alive!

August 12, 2010

Dear Readers,

I'm sorry.

It has been over a year since I last updated, even with a simple author's note or whatever.

Let me explain.

A little over a year ago, I experienced my first real break-up, an event which unhinged my world. It was painful. It was harsh. It was distracting.

On top of that, I was the Vice President of my Filipino-American organization here at my college so I was loaded with responsibilities. I was also a coordinator for our graduation celebration as well.

While I was trying to balance my depression, my schoolwork, and my organization work, I simply had to sacrifice a few joys in my life, such as writing stories.

However, I've taken the summer off and am currently vacationing in the Philippines. I have rested and I'm finally okay again.

I actually am writing a new story and hope to complete my other stories as well.

Don't be alarmed. I haven't abandoned you just yet.

For those who have remained and who have constantly wondered when I was going to upload again, I owe you the most apologies.

I won't let you down.

Always,

Tinsa


	25. Part XXIII

**Between the Lines**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary:** Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become … more than friends. HPHG

**Disclaimer: **Though I borrow the characters and details from _The Deathly Hallows_, all the parts that seem off and non-canon are truly my ideas.

**Author's Note:**

Thank you to all those who've read and reviewed my story. After re-reading it time and time again in hopes of getting inspired to keep writing, I realized it is super cheesy, the sex scenes are embarrassing to read, and that sometimes I was grasping at straws for continuity and plot. Nevertheless, it is still my favorite fanfiction and I do intend to complete it.

Thank you to a few reviewers, especially **dattebayo-san** and **Kenzie Marie **for asking if I would finally continue the story. It's been a year and half, if not more, since I last wrote a chapter for this story, so excuse my writing if it's not up to my previous standards.

**IMPORTANT: I am looking for a beta for this story. Please PM if you're interested. Actually, I'm not even sure what the policy is for beta readers anymore, so PM me if you know how it goes.**

I don't have much else to say, except thank you again and please review. Enjoy!

* * *

I get lost in the night so high I don't want to come down

To face the loss of the good thing that I've found

In the dark of the night I could hear you calling my name

With the hardest of hearts I still feel full of pain

So I drink and I smoke and I ask you if you're ever around

Even though it was me who drove us right in the ground

**Kings of Leon - **_Revelry_

* * *

**PART XXIII**

Harry watched the slivers of the morning sun rise in the distance. After insisting that Hermione go to bed, he lay down beside her, hoping sleep would come easily. Unfortunately, it hadn't.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Voldemort's sickly pale face. His revolting cackle permeated the room until Harry could no longer hear the waves on the beach or the little sounds Hermione made in her sleep.

Hermione lay on her side, in the tiny bed, facing him. Her right hand was curled beneath her head while the other lay somewhere beneath the blanket. She was frowning. Was she having a nightmare?

Harry's head felt heavy. He wore fatigue like a jacket. He desperately wanted to sleep, but it evaded him.

So instead, he watched her. He memorized every curve of her face. He traced the lines of her lips, the bridge of her nose, and her eyes. She really was a beautiful woman. Was she always this way or had he been blinded by their friendship for so many years?

He didn't know much of her past lovers, but she knew all of his. She knew about his crushes, his awful first date, his wet first kiss, and his flailing relationship with Ginny Weasley. She knew him, but sometimes he felt that he was barely skimming the surface of her essence.

Who was her first crush? Had she gone on dates with any other boys at Hogwarts? Did she keep in contact with Krum after the Tri-Wizard Tournament? Krum was at Bill and Fleur's wedding. Did they dance together and catch up on old times? How far had she gone with Ron, if at all? Did she still have feelings for Ron?

Questions flooded his mind, but this time, he welcomed them, but only because they were about her. He knew her when she was just a young girl with bushy hair and slightly bucktoothed teeth. The woman who lay next to him was more than that memory.

She wasn't the most gorgeous woman he'd ever set his eyes on, but she was better than any dream girl he could ever conjure up. She was better, because she was real… and she was his, at least for the time being.

The sunlight was filling the room now. The lazy blue haze of morning crept through the window. The seagulls were raising an alarm.

_Another sleepless night for Harry Potter. Is that how you plan to kill me, Voldemort? Break me down until I can't get back up? Chip away at me until I crumble to my knees?_

Harry waited for an answer. The seagulls screamed. Overcome with a combination of fatigue and restlessness, Harry climbed out of bed and walked out of the small cottage. Fleur was already awake and setting up breakfast for her guests. She greeted him on his way out to the cliff overlooking the ocean. The cliff was his fortress of solitude. He didn't invite anyone to the cliff, not even Hermione.

He needed time and space to simply be Harry, not Harry Potter the Chosen One. He needed to be alone, if not mentally at least physically. Voldemort was always hanging around, always trying to embrace him like a disease-ridden blanket, but Harry kept the monster at bay for everyone's sake.

* * *

Ron was having a pleasant dream about being home with his family. Fred and George were in the corner of the living room, giving him the strangest looks. Ron had a feeling he needed to be extra careful about where he sat and what he touched at the table. Ginny was sitting with Harry on the ratty couch. They seemed to be arguing over something. Hermione was standing with Bill, talking about some topic that was beyond his knowledge. Charlie and Percy were missing, as always. His mum was flying around his dad, fixing his robes and stuffing breakfast underneath his nose. There was something soothing about the scene. Unfortunately, the comfortable feeling of home was suddenly interrupted by an awful noise that sounded like a row of crows crying in cacophony.

Ron woke up immediately. He nearly jumped out of bed. When he realized where he was, he felt a ball of disappointment grow in the pit of his stomach. The dream felt so real. He was home with the people he loved. He was warm and happy in the dream, but now, in the world of reality, he was cold and alone. Pretending the disappointment was merely hunger, he carefully got out of bed and went to the kitchen.

Luna was sitting with Fleur and Bill. The married couple stared at the blonde girl with curious expressions. Luna was probably telling them a story her father made up about invisible creatures that ate your socks when you weren't looking or something along those lines.

"Good morning," Ron greeted. Fleur and Bill smiled, looking a little relieved.

"Good morning, Ron. You look well," Luna commented.

"Thanks, Luna. I feel loads better. Where is everyone else?"

Luna was on the cusp of replying before Bill interjected. "Griphook, the goblin, is in bed. Goblins are proud creatures. I don't really like dealing with them. Mr. Ollivander is resting upstairs. He's weak. Don't exactly know where Hermione is, but Fleur says Harry went off by himself this morning."

_He's gone. _

"What do you mean, he went off by himself? Is he coming back? Was he carrying a small, purple bag?" Ron was panicking. Did they leave him behind? He made Harry promise not to leave without him.

"Relax. He just went for a walk on the beach. He'll be back. Come eat breakfast. You look hungry." As if on cue, Ron's stomach rumbled. He chuckled nervously before taking a seat next to Luna.

Unfortunately, his fear of getting left behind by his best friends wouldn't go away. The fear sat behind his ribcage, just below his heart. The three of them were connected by years of trials and tribulations, and even sometimes romance. He and Harry were as close as wizards can be. Sometimes, and he guessed even subconsciously, he saw Harry as another brother, though he didn't sport the trademark flaming Weasley hair.

His friendship with Hermione was a bit more complicated. For the first few years of their friendship, Ron always thought Hermione was an annoying know-it-all and overall bore. She was always nagging at them to not do this or that, or go study. She proved to be useful when he slacked off on an assignment though.

Ron didn't know what changed or when it happened, but all of a sudden, he started looking at her differently. It was like growing a new set of eyes, when he started noticing her as something more than a friend. She started filling out her jumper and her hips flared out in those tight Muggle denim she preferred wearing over baggy robes. He wanted to throw daggers at any wizard at Hogwarts who dare stare at her for too long, starting with that creep Cormac McLaggen. He got deathly jealous when Viktor Krum, the Quidditch player he adored in the most manly way possible, started sniffing around Hermione, following her around the castle like a lost puppy. Having been her friend for so long, he felt it odd to jump into a relationship right after, so he waited for her to make a move. Unfortunately, at the same time, Lavender Brown developed an obsession over him and made a couple moves on him. Being a sane, growing young wizard, he welcomed the physical contact, but the magic lasted for only so long. He barely saw Hermione when Lavender came around; when he did, she looked upset. He knew what he had to do, but he couldn't face her. He was scared she changed her mind. Oh, how wrong he was then.

She was all he could think of, after he stormed out of the tent that night. When he travelled aimlessly from pub to pub, he dreamed of her. Eventually, somehow, she led him back to where he needed to be, but everything had changed.

He thought what the locket showed him was a nightmare, but he didn't realize until later that it was his new reality. The locket attacked him with his insecurities. He saw Harry and Hermione kissing passionately, naked as the day they were born. They were perfect together.

"_Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter … Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend … Second best, always, eternally overshadowed…"_

Though it was mostly the locket's doing, the anger and fear he felt was all his own. He was angry because Harry had thrown him under a bus and stolen his girl, the one thing he knew was his for the taking. He was also scared because it felt right, as if it was meant to happen. He was scared because they were embarking on a new adventure without him. They were leaving him behind, without as much as a goodbye. They were discovering themselves while he was discovering loneliness.

If he hadn't stormed out, would things be this way? Would he be the one holding her at night? Would he be the lucky wizard waking up to her smile? He used to have dreams involving her. In his dreams, he married Hermione and had children with her. He dreamed they were all together at Platform 9 ¾. Their children were heading off to school, even though in reality, he was still in school himself. He dreamed an entire lifetime with her, but now that everything had changed, the dreams vanished in an instant.

He hadn't given Harry his blessing to continue pursuing Hermione, but he didn't stop him either. In spite of the bitterness he tried to hide, he treasured their friendship more than his feelings. Sure, it hurt to see them together. Sure, he still wished he was the bloke holding her hand and kissing her lips. Sure, some part of him still hated Harry for his treacherous move. However, he'd rather be alone with them, then alone by himself. Having grown up surrounded by so many people all the time, he was used to having company. Now that was ripped from his hands, he no longer felt the warmth and comfort he was so accustomed to.

"Good morning," a soft voice called out. Ron was pulled away from his thoughts. Hermione was awake. She stood awkwardly in the kitchen doorway.

"Good morning, Hermione," Luna greeted back. Ron merely stared at Hermione. Fleur and Bill noticed the tension rising in the room so they excused themselves.

Ron and Hermione ate their breakfast silently. Luna was unaware of the tension and carried the conversation. They finished their breakfast and dropped their dirty dishes and utensils in the sink.

Ron was ready to crawl back to his room to escape the awkwardness, but Hermione stopped him. He held his breath for a second. She grabbed his hand and asked him to meet her outside.

"We need to talk."

"Okay," he mumbled back.

"Excuse us," Hermione said politely to Luna, who walked away with her normal dazed expression.

Ron followed Hermione out of the cottage. They walked to the sandy shore of the beach. Those pesky birds that woke him up were performing drills in the sky.

"I feel like I owe you an apology, but we both know I'm not the one who should be saying sorry," she started.

"I know, I know."

"Everything's different now, Ron, and I hope you understand."

"I really don't, Hermione, to be honest."

_You were supposed to be mine. _

"Ron, you knew how I felt about you for a while. I waited for you. I really did."

"I know that, Hermione."

_Couldn't you have waited a little longer?_

"When you left, I was a mess. Harry was a mess too. You abandoned us. You betrayed us. We were… are your friends, Ron."

"I know that as well! What is the point of this conversation, Hermione? What is this talk trying to accomplish? I hope you know I already feel like the scum of the earth. No need to keep reminding me that I am."

"The point is I don't need your approval on who I can and cannot be with, Ronald Weasley! And neither does Harry. I know you disapprove of what's going on between Harry and I right now. It's only natural. You don't have to accept it right away, but can you at least try to?"

"I am trying, Hermione. I'm still here, aren't I? Do you ever think of how I feel when you're with him? It hurts me to see you together. It's like getting _crucio_'d repeatedly."

Ron cringed. Perhaps those weren't the perfect choice of words.

"We can't help it, Ron. This is how things are now. Please don't try to change or ruin it."

A long silence followed her request. Ron stared at the waves so he didn't have to look her in the eye.

"You know, I used to have dreams about us," he confessed. "I dreamt that we were married and had kids."

"Please stop. I don't want to hear any of this."

"Did you dream of us, too? I know you must have. Don't lie to me, Hermione."

"I'm going to ask you this once, and only once. This… thing… is beyond you, me, and Harry. We have to stick together, even though we don't all agree with what's going on. Dumbledore asked us to go on this journey, but it will only work if we stay together. You already know what happens when we split up."

Ron remembered her painful howls vibrating off the walls of the Malfoy Manor's dungeon.

"You almost died," Ron whispered.

"Yes, I did. I love you, Ron, as one of the closest friends I've ever had. It almost killed me when we lost you. A part of me will never forgive you for what you did to Harry and I. It was low of you. But that doesn't mean we… err… I still don't care about you. I do, but not in the same way as before."

Hermione grabbed both of Ron's hands. She looked up at him, pleading for something he couldn't give her - freedom. He looked down at their hands. He imagined, in a different situation, this would be romantic. Unfortunately, this was a tragedy for him. He untangled his hands from hers.

"I'd never leave you two… but you have to promise that you won't leave me behind."

"We would never do that. Ron, I promise that we'll always be the Golden Trio."

"Thank you. So uhh… what do we do now?"

Hermione paused before answering, "We're going to say goodbye to everyone and move on. Bill said he'll take care of Luna and the others. We're leaving tonight."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet. I'm waiting on Harry to make up his mind. He thinks he's found another Horcrux. Yesterday, Bill showed him a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. The Ministry is framing Harry for a robbery from the Black family's vault at Gringrotts. Someone knows what we're up to. We've got to be even more careful now."

"Okay. And one last thing… I'm sorry, Hermione, for what I've done. Everything."

"I know, Ron. We know."

She hugged him lightly. He barely felt the pressure of her arms and then she let go.

That signaled the end of their "talk." Ron followed her back to the cottage. He felt lighter, for some reason. Some of the weight was lifted off his shoulders, but he couldn't ignore the fact that that was the end of any romantic relationship he had with Hermione.

He lost her, but now he had to let her go.

He knew this would be difficult, but there was no way around it. He just hoped he could keep his cool long enough to survive.

* * *

Harry was on his way back to the cottage, when he saw Ron and Hermione holding hands on the beach. She was staring up at Ron and saying something Harry could not decipher. Ron pulled away from her. He was frowning. He looked like someone just told him summer vacation was cancelled.

Deciding it was best to wait for Hermione to explain what just happened, because she always did, Harry walked towards the cottage. He had better things to do, such as figure out exactly where they'd be going off to tonight.

When he walked into the cottage, he was greeted by the familiar face of Remus Lupin.

"Harry! Just the person I needed to talk to. Come join Fleur, Bill and I." Fleur jumped out of her seat to grab breakfast for Harry. He thanked her and then focused his attention on Remus, whose presence almost always meant Order business.

"I'm sure you read yesterday's paper, Harry."

"Yes, Bill showed me the article. I must have been sleepwalking."

"No offense, Harry, but you look like death right now. I hardly doubt you've gotten sleep. If this robbery has anything to do with the mission Dumbledore sent you on, you have to let us know."

"I can't tell you much, because I don't know that much about the robbery. All I can say is something valuable, something that we need, has been stolen, but not by me."

"Of course, you didn't steal it, Harry. Lucius Malfoy did. The Ministry is only covering up his robbery because he is an Ministry employee and known Death Eater. It's easier to blame you for the crime. They have been, for the past few months."

"What?"

At this moment, Hermione and Ron shuffled into the cottage.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked.

"Ah, even better now that you are all here. I've been informed by the Order that Lucius Malfoy stole something of value from the Black's vault. I've also been told that he is willing to hand it over to you, but for a price."

"What does he want?" Harry asked.

_Could it be? Is Lucius really going to just hand over a Horcrux? There has to be a catch…_

"He wants his son back," Remus answered.

"But we don't bloody know where Malfoy is," Ron commented.

"Ah, yes, that is true. The Order is currently detaining the young Malfoy as a prisoner of war. Don't be alarmed - he isn't being harmed. Not that harshly, anyways."

"Malfoy Senior is going to give us a Horc… I mean, he's swapping his son for some stolen goods?" Ron stammered. Harry and Hermione caught his slip of the tongue.

Remus watched their expressions curiously and continued, saying, "Essentially, yes, but we have to make sure it's worth the trade. Something tells me it is."

"Where is this deal going down?" Harry asked. "We were actually planning on leaving tonight to continue on the mission."

"The Order will escort you to the location we've decided is safest for the transaction. If the deal is made, we will trade the boy for whatever Lucius is offering. You must not stray from us at all. We will keep you safe. We believe that Lucius will be alone, but we're taking extra precautions. What you do after is of your own will, but please, be careful. Do you understand?"

Harry, Hermione, and Ron nodded.

Hermione finally spoke up, asking, "How safe can this be? If the Order knows Lucius Malfoy stole the Black family heirloom, wouldn't Voldemort also know? I don't think he'd be very happy if one of his minions was helping our side. It sounds strange."

"Ah, yes, that's a smart observation, Hermione. Our source informed us that Lucius has departed from his home with no intention of returning. We can only assume he is fleeing the country. That's why he wants his son back. He wants to escape with the last of his Pureblood family line. A desperate man is a dangerous man, but if what he is offering is of any help to your mission, the Order is willing to take the risk. Anything for you, Harry."

"How do we know if this isn't just another trap waiting to happen?" Harry asked.

"We don't, Harry, but we are prepared for the possible repercussions. The strongest and most experienced members of the Order will be with you tonight. Unfortunately, I have to be on my way now, but I suggest you lot rest, especially you Harry. Bring whatever you need. You won't be returning back to this cottage tonight. Its location has been compromised. Everyone will be evacuating and moving to a new safe house."

"Thank you, Remus. We appreciate all of the Order's help."

Remus raised his wand to disapparate, but changed his mind for a split second.

"Oh, and Harry, just thought you'd like to know the name of your _godson_. Tonks and I found out the sex of our baby a few days ago and we decided to name him 'Teddy' … _Ted Lupin _officially_,_" Remus announced with the brightest smile and proudest expression on his face.

"A boy! How wonderful! Isn't that amazing news, Harry?" Hermione exclaimed.

"I'm off. See you all soon! Seeing as this may be appropriate for tonight's festivities, I'd like to say, in memory of one of the greatest wizards I was privileged to ever fight alongside, **constant vigilance**!" Remus disapparated immediately, leaving only a puff of gray smoke in his midst.

"Nice, Harry," Ron commented, with a lopsided smile.

"Thanks, Ron. But Remus is right - I need sleep. I'm going to bed. Hermione, can you wake me up later? Could you gather our stuff as well? We need to be ready to be on our feet tonight. I'm not sure how this deal will end up."

"Of course, Harry. Go to bed. Ron and I will get everything ready."

Harry dragged his feet back to the room and collapsed on the bed. The blankets were warm to the touch. He embraced the warmth. Luckily, he fell sound asleep.

_My godson. Teddy Lupin._

* * *

**A couple hours later…**

The wizard drew the hood of his black cloak over his brittle blonde hair. An owl arrived at the abandoned house he used for hiding from the snatchers and his master. The owl held a roll of parchment with its talons and a bronze coin in its beak. The parchment's contents were magically concealed, but with a swish of a wand he stole off another Death Eater, its true message revealed itself.

_Malfoy,_

_We have your son. The owl is carrying a Port Key. Use it and come to us. Come alone. If you fail to follow our instructions, we will inform the Ministry of your location and you will never see your son's face again. _

_We will not protect you from your master, if he chooses to make an appearance. You are alone in this._

_Bring the heirloom. This note will self-destruct in thirty seconds. _

_Phoenix _

As warned, the parchment disintegrated in Lucius's hands. The spell stung his grimy hands, but he ignored the slight pain. He was almost finished. He would collect his son and together, they would escape with their lives, just as Narcissa asked him.

The night the Dark Lord executed his wife, he floated her body to their bedroom and commanded the house elves to clean and prepare her for her funeral ceremony. Distraught, he escaped to his study with an intention to drink every drop of Firewhiskey he had in stock. He flung papers off the desk and threw the antique lamp sitting in the corner of his lavish desk against the wall. A bottle of ink spilled, staining his fingers. He cursed and bent down to the ground to pick up a piece of parchment to clean off the black mess. Had he a wand, he would have set everything on fire, but the Dark Lord confiscated it some time ago.

When he stood back up, he observed the mess on his desk. The ink had crawled everywhere, creating a splatter save for one spot. The ink flowed around a rectangular shape that he later discovered was a magicked letter.

The letter was addressed to him. It was written in the familiar feminine cursive his wife liked to use for party invitations. His eyes flew over the words on the piece of parchment. The letter started with this message: "_I'm sorry Lucius…_"

In two pages, his wife described her love for him and their son. She said she was proud to have raised such a handsome and smart wizard who was the spitting image of his father. However, though she loved and supported her husband, she did not agree with his decisions, especially concerning the Dark Lord.

"_When he disappeared after the first Dark War, I was relieved. I thought that maybe we would have a shot at a long and happy life together. When we had Draco, I was ecstatic. However, once our son went to Hogwarts and the suspicion that the Dark Lord was returning reached the Ministry, I was scared for us all. When the Dark Lord did return, at least physically, and took over our lives, I knew I had to make sure at least Draco would come out alive. He is too young to die this way. I love him too much."_

Though Draco wrote to him constantly throughout his Hogwarts years, his messages usually only conveyed something about a classmate he didn't like. At a dinner party, Lucius overheard his friends' comments, whose sons also went to Hogwarts and were also members of the Slytherin house, that Draco's trademark phrase was, "My father will hear about this."

Draco adored him for his power, but as Draco grew up and realized his father's power was limited, he drew away from him. The letters stopped coming. His son stopped communicating with him altogether, but the owls came for Narcissa. Draco was always his mother's son. That much was true.

"_When the Dark Lord ordered Draco to take on the mission of leading the Death Eaters into Hogwarts and killing his headmaster, I had to do something to make sure he came out alive. I went to Severus and pleaded for him to help our son. Bellatrix followed me. She kept saying the Dark Lord would have my head, but I didn't care. I had to make sure Draco would survive. And he did. But that night scarred him. He changed. Death does that to people."_

The letter shook in his hands. He could barely read the last few paragraphs, knowing that this would be the last he would ever hear from her.

"_If anything should happen, if I don't make it, I ask that you take your son and flee. Leave. Don't fight. Survive and live out the years of your lives. If for any reason the Dark Lord takes your life and I survive, I will do the same. If the Potter boy does the impossible and defeats the Dark Lord, I ask that you wait a few years and come back to my grave, if I don't survive. Bring Draco with you. I want us to be a family again."_

The letter ended there. He immediately emptied the contents of his Firewhiskey bottle. After throwing the bottle away, he stumbled out of his study and down the halls of his home. He didn't return to his bedroom. He didn't want to see his dead wife. Instead, he found his way to the gardens, where the obscene albino peacock resided.

He vomited into a rosebush until white liquid dripped from his lips. He collapsed onto the grass, sprawled like a child forming a snow angel, and watched the night sky twirl like a kaleidoscope.

He closed his eyes, hoping he would pass out. When he opened them, he was staring into the disapproving face of Severus Snape.

"Pull yourself together, Lucius. You're acting like a heartsick fool."

"My wife just died, Severus. Leave me be."

"Yes, I know. Bellatrix informed me of the unfortunate news."

"Go back to your castle, Headmaster. I need time to think."

"Your son is missing. Did you know that?"

"Of course I know Draco's missing. Potter's crew took him away when they escaped."

"You must find him. Narcissa would want you to."

Lucius's eyes widened. Did she inform Severus of her plans?

"Yes, Lucius, I know about the letter. It was my idea. When Draco failed to kill Albus Dumbledore that one night, I stepped in and did the deed. After his death, Narcissa approached me a second time. She said Draco was tied up in the Dark Lord's plans. He couldn't escape, so she asked me to make sure he did."

"Why does she trust you so, Severus?"

"Because I'm wizard enough to make decisions when I need to. Plus, I've watched over your son for the past few years. There's a reason she preferred he go to Hogwarts and not abroad. She knew I would protect him, which I did and still continue to do."

"What do I do, Severus? I need to find my son."

"I have an idea… but you must do something for me first."

"What is it? I will do anything."

"There's an heirloom in the Black's vault that is of great importance. I want you to gain access to the vault and steal it for me."

"Why don't I just ask Bellatrix? She's the… the sole owner of the vault now."

"She must not know about this! If she does, you will never see your son again."

"Okay. Okay! I will steal this heirloom for you. What does it look like?"

Severus proceeded to describe the unique heirloom.

"When you get your hands on it, I want you to contact Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror known to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix, the organization fighting the Dark Lord's rise. Tell him that you have something of great importance to Harry Potter. Tell him you want your son in return."

"Do they have Draco? The Order?"

"They most likely do. They're your only hope to fulfill your wife's dying wish. Give them the cup and take back your son. Once you have Draco, flee. Go to the farthest place you can imagine. Hide or else he'll come after you both."

"… Will you be there to ensure they give me back my son?"

"Merlin, Lucius, I've already helped you enough. I can't hold your hand throughout this process. Mess up and you jeopardize Draco's life."

"Thank you, Severus. Thank you." Lucius was on his knees, clasping his hands as if praying.

"Get up, Lucius. Compose yourself. You have so much to do. Make a mistake and I won't be there to help you fix it. This is your mission."

With that final warning, Severus walked away. His black cloak billowed behind him. Lucius did not see him again.

After Lucius buried his wife, he started to plot. He disarmed Peter Pettigrew in order to steal a wand. As for the heirloom at Gringrotts, he decided to avoid the path of Polyjuice Potion and acting as an imposter. He travelled down to the vaults of Gringrotts many times, for personal reasons and business. He knew there would be spells and enchantments that would remove the effects of the potion.

Through threats and dark spells, he got the number of the Black's vault. He went to Gringrotts, pretending to withdraw coins from his vault. When the goblin turned his head to maneuver the trolley, he placed an _Imperio_ spell on him.

The goblin led him to the Black's vault and opened the lock. He told the goblin to wait while he retrieved the heirloom. The cup lay on the highest shelf in the vault, but using a variety of spells, he was able to get his hands on it. He guessed the enchantments that Bellatrix placed on her vault, one being this nasty curse that would drown him in gold.

The goblin led him back to the ground floor of the bank. During the ride back up, he shrunk the heirloom and placed an anti-detection spell on it. Lucius was sweating like that half-giant buffoon who taught at Hogwarts on a hot Indian summer day by the time they came back to right floor. Before he walked out of the bank, he lifted the _Imperio_ curse on the goblin and obliviated him for good measure.

After the robbery, he contacted the proper Auror, just as Severus instructed him to do. He didn't return to his mansion. Instead he apparated to the most obscure wizarding town he could think of, and hid in the abandoned house he luckily found while walking through the landscape. He made sure to look over his shoulder ever so often, just in case snatchers were on his tail. He also lifted his sleeve to make sure the mark wasn't turning dark. That was always a warning that the burning sensation would follow soon after. He couldn't be called by the Dark Lord now.

He waited in the house for hours until finally, the note had arrived. Lucius reached over towards the owl's beak, being careful not to get nipped when the creature dropped the Portkey in his hand. The owl flew away after finishing its delivery.

Lucius held the bronze coin in his hand, waiting for it to be activated. An inscription appeared on the coin, revealing his name and the time. Soon after, he felt the familiar pull of travelling through Portkey. He landed on his knees, wherever he was.

"Nice of you to join us, Lucius. We were thinking you wanted us to babysit your son a little longer."

Lucius lifted his head and met the gaze of Remus Lupin and two other wizards whose faces he recognized. The two other wizards held Draco by both arms. He was unconscious and bloody. Lucius, alerted by the sight of his son, stood up and brandished his stolen wand.

"Give me my son, Lupin."

"Give us the goods, Lucius."

"_Wait!_"

Harry Potter's voice rang out. The raven-haired boy appeared suddenly, flanked by the Weasley boy and the muggleborn.

"Now it's a party. Feel like dancing in the moonlight, Lucius?" Remus mocked.

Lucius stood his ground. He truly was alone.


End file.
